


A Measure of Distance I Can't Quite Calculate

by sevdrag (seventhe)



Series: Farsighted [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminal Minds Setting, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Brandy - Freeform, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Deaf Clint Barton, Drunk Texting, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Steve Rogers is a confused but good bro, Tags May Change, Texting, i am very likely drinking while writing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-10-06 23:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/pseuds/sevdrag
Summary: A collection of short bits and pieces after Nearsighted;Farsighted, exploring what happens between Bucky and Clint after the case is closed.  Watch while two idiots (and the people who love them) text, fret, spill, trip over their own emotions, and - possibly - actually go on a date.  Will feature ensemble cast, but with a focus on Bucky and Clint.





	1. Saturday: Somewhere In Between

**Author's Note:**

> title inspired by Somewhere In Between by VERITE.
> 
> This is just a collection of little pieces meant to connect to the ACTUAL sequel -- this is maybe like Sequel Lite, or Diet Sequel, while I firm up the details of Actual Sequel and get it down. There will be texting, phone calls, lots of bad flirting, even more bad pickup lines, and probably more porn. How do they actually get together? DO they get together? What's up with Steve?

Bucky isn’t even home yet when his phone buzzes with an unknown number.

    _this is so you have my number too_

The next set of messages come all in a rush:

    _this is clint_

    _Barton_

    _Clint Barton_

    _from the bau_

    _you probably know that_

    _oh my god im just gonna throw my phone out the window bye_

Bucky snorts. Steve glances over from the driver’s seat as Bucky starts typing.

_**I’m going to add you as Clint Barton From The BAU if you’re so worried about me forgetting** _

    _omg look I’m tired pretend i never said anything_

_**Then I wouldn’t have your number.** _

**__**     _im changing ur contact name to asshole_

Bucky’s laughing now, which means Steve is definitely giving him A Look that’s gonna have to be answered when they get home, but the stupid interaction has Bucky in too good of a mood to care overly much.

    _ **Fine then. Clint “Dumbass” Barton From The BAU**_

    _Bucky Asshole Barnes_

    _from the city where no one knows how to fucking drive_

Bucky considers it for all of two seconds, and then shrugs, to himself.

    _**Bucky “Hot Asshole” Barnes**_

There’s a pause where he can see Clint typing.

    _...accurate_

It’s followed by a screenshot showing Bucky’s contact page, his number listed beneath “Bucky Super Hot Super Asshole Barnes”. Bucky can’t stop laughing now; it sounds like he’s wheezing.

He adds Clint into his phone as “Clint Dumbass Nice Ass Barton” and sends a screenshot back.

    _Nat says im laughing too hard and shes gonna take my phone cause im being a bad pillow_

_**Who the fuck is driving?** _

    _coulson. he never lets anyone else drive. tasha and i got the back seat, thor and tony are asleep on each other in the middle, and bruce is up front_

_**Wait are you all literally crammed into a clown car or what** _

    _phil likes to save money when he can_

_**You’re like a bunch of children on a field trip.** _

    _u have no idea man tony can be the literal worst_

    _I mean he got us the nice car so he gets some credit for that but_

    _He likes to sing and its. Its awful_

_**Does thor pack you all juice boxes and snacks?** _

    _omg hell no thor is the second worst of everybody here_

    _he and tony once sang 99 bottles of beer on the wall all the way down to 0_

    _Nat was crying by the end and i almost drove the car off the road_

_**I’m surprised Coulson didn’t shoot you all.** _

    _lol well we take two cars sometimes_

    _U didn’t meet the whole fam_

    _Technically we have 2 other agents and 2 tech ppl_

_**My god, it really is a clown car** _

    _watch the circus jokes bro_

    _I certainly wasnt a clown_

Bucky has absolutely no idea how to take that, so instead of replying he goes in, edits the contact info, and sends another screenshot, this one reading “Clint Dumbass Hot Ass Not A Clown Barton”.

    _Hahahahaha omg omfg stop_

    _Nats gonna kill me_

    _**We’re home, and my bed’s calling. Let her sleep.**_

    _goodnight super asshole_

    _**Goodnight, clown.**_

Bucky tucks his phone back into his pocket and ignores the look that Steve’s giving him as they grab their bags from the back of the car. They take the elevator up in silence. Their apartment’s on the fifth floor, and while they normally take the stairs, normally they’re just tired from a workday, rather than a series of grueling stressful workdays with very little sleep.

It’s a nice apartment — way nicer than anywhere Bucky had ever imagined them living when they were kids. Three bedrooms - they both like being able to have guests - and two bathrooms, with an open kitchen-dining setup and a nice living room with a balcony. Bucky pitches his duffle onto his bed and heads into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

“I’m guessing that was Clint?” Steve says as he joins Bucky in the kitchen, not subtle at all.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and drinks half the glass. “Thought it would be good to keep a contact at the BAU.”

“For work purposes, I’m sure,” and now Steve’s teasing him, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I never knew crime could make you laugh so much.”

“Oh my god, eat shit, Stevie.” Bucky groans and rubs a hand over his face. “So I made a fuckin’ friend. I’m not gonna tell you _anything_ if you keep this up.”

“You always tell me,” Steve replies, grin still firmly in place.

“Won’t,” Bucky warns him. When the grin starts to turn a little sappy, he adds angrily, “An’ no speeches about how nice it is that I’m talking to someone that isn’t you or the Howlies, either, or I’m gonna throw you out the window.”

“Seems like you’ve already given yourself the speech,” Steve says, smug. “You’re so well trained I don’t even have to bother anymore.”

“I hate you,” Bucky tells him, and Steve just shrugs.

Something occurs to Bucky, and he texts:

    **Hold up is this your official fbi phone**

**like am i now being uploaded to some fbi database as Bucky asshole Barnes**

**I’m not sure how i feel about that**

There’s a minute or two before his phone buzzes with a response.

    _Hi, this is Natasha. Clint’s phone has been confiscated because he’s now laughing like a hyena and I really want this nap. It will be returned to him when we get back to Quantico, but as a professional fyi, he’s likely to be too tired to reply until tomorrow._

    _Oh, and nice to meet you, Barnes. Hope to see you around soon._

Bucky tries really hard not to blush. Maybe Natasha doesn’t know - she might be guessing, or she might be just trying to be friendly? It doesn’t mean anything, right. Although ...he certainly wouldn’t mind, if she’s implying what he hopes she is.

    **you too. that isn’t an answer tho**

Natasha doesn’t respond, and Bucky figures she’s ignoring him and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

“So,” Steve says, so casual that shit-eating grin bleeds through his voice, “are you guys gonna get together?”

“Are you ever gonna ask out Peggy?” Bucky shoots back. “Look, the day you do somethin’ about that is the day you can have the full details of my lo- of my social life.”

“That is _not_ the same,” Steve says with a sigh. “You know why.”

“Maybe not.” Bucky opens the fridge. “But it’s close enough you know what I mean. Want a beer?”

“Yeah, give,” Steve says. “Wanna crash on the couch and watch dumb tv until we pass out?”

“Hell yeah,” Bucky replies. “I’m beat.”

————-

Clint wakes up the next day with no real idea of how he got to bed, which means Tasha must have tucked his ass in. He’s wrapped up in a blanket cocoon, having pulled a pillow underneath his comforter, so everything is warm and comfortable; for a good moment he considers going back to sleep and spending the day in bed. He only reaches for his phone because he can’t remember whether or not it’s actually Saturday.

Turns out, it is, and Clint curls up around his phone drowsily, not wanting to emerge into his apartment. He glances back at the text thread with Bucky, to re-read Nat’s messages, and blushes _hard._

Jesus, _Bucky._ Clint’s been reliving that night in the back of his head for _forever_ , basically on a constant, full technicolor loop underneath anything else up to and including feeding himself. God. He wants to do it again. He wants to do it a million times again. He wants the chance to do _all_ of his favorite things; he wants hours in a hotel bed, Bucky naked and laid out before him, and _god_ but this has to be his four hundredth boner since Thursday night, cause now he’s thinking about Bucky naked. His dick has to be tired of this.

The problem is…

The problem is, Clint _also_ wants to take Bucky out for dinner. He _also_ wants to sit at that bar, wherever Bucky had taken him, and drink beer and just _talk_ like they did, easy and nice and so casual it was _comfortable,_ like they could have sat for days just trading stories and enjoying each other’s company. He wants to have Bucky over and fall asleep entwined on the couch. _Fuck._

Clint knows he can be charming when he wants, and he can be competent at his job, but he’s never been good at any of this shit - and who even knows what Barnes would even want? But then he remembers that gentle kiss Bucky gave him in the morning, smiling, and thinks: _see, this is why I get confused._

He swipes the screen and decides Bucky seemed amenable to chatting last night, at least, so why not.

    _sorry man nat gets super cranky when shes tired and im afraid to piss her off_

_that was a rough case even for us. welcome to working with the bau!!!!!_

_I hope you and steve get some rest this weekend. u guys did really good work and you deserve one hell of a break_

_im gonna make Tasha get drunk w me tonight its our usual response to shit like this_

He’s idly flipping through the phone when he thinks he hears the door open, and crawls up to stick his head out from under the bedspread. “Nat?”

“Good morning,” she says. It’s faint but certainly comprehensible; Nat knows he isn’t completely deaf, just hard of hearing, and she takes care in the mornings to be extra clear until she knows he has his aids in. She must have let herself in. 

“I’ll be right down,” he hollers, and scrambles out of bed, pulling on the first thing he can find that looks like clothes so he doesn’t lose all of this warmth, grabs his phone, and palms his aids, scrabbling them into his ears as he runs down the stairs.

Tasha has the coffee pot already working, and he breathes in deeply as he comes around behind her, putting his arms around her waist. Nat always smells good. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Off, Barton,” she says, but she snuggles in deeper and wraps her arms around Clint’s arms at her waist. _Fuck,_ she’s awesome.

“We on for DAS tonight?” Delivery and shots, part of their own lingo. When they’re around the team they pretend it’s some TV show they like, because Clint doesn’t necessarily want to admit how much they drink during a DAS night. Nat keeps telling him no one would care, but he isn’t quite comfortable enough in his place - even after all these years - to make that joke.

“Of course,” Nat says, and pulls away to get two mugs out of the cupboard. She nabs her special creamer from the fridge and delicately doctors her own mug, while Clint shortstops the pot to fill his with delicious dark goodness.

His phone chimes at him.

“Who the fuck keeps changing my ringtones?” Clint asks Nat as he checks.

    _**Dude, Steve and i fell asleep on our couch last night drinking beer and watching reruns of Kitchen Nightmares**_

**_He’s out for a run because he’s crazy but i am still under a blanket on the couch because I am not_ **

That seems friendly enough. Clint grins, and blushes, ducking his head. Maybe Bucky won't mind chatting until — 

“Give me that,” Nat says, swiping it from his hand before he can even reply. She reads the thread in silence, purses her lips, and then hands him the phone back.

“You’re already in over your head, aren’t you,” she says gently.

Clint huffs. “I am _not,_ ” he insists, having another swallow of coffee and then topping his mug off with fresh coffee. 

“Clint,” she says, and now her voice is laughing at him. “You know what tonight’s episode of DAS will be about, right?”

“Dammit, Tasha.” Clint retreats to his couch, curling up in the corner and hauling the blanket over his toes. He proceeds to ignore Nat as she sits down on the other side of the couch, swinging her feet up so that she can tuck her toes under his legs; she has her tablet, though, and looks like she’s just ready for a quiet and peaceful morning. They spend a lot of Saturday mornings like this, wanting companionship but not needing to fill the space with talk. It’s ...nice. It’s something Clint never really thought he was gonna have.

    _nat and i just got on the couch and under a blanket ourselves. her toes are fuckin cold_

    _**do you live together?**_

    _kinda she lives in the apartment across the hall so we each have our own space but we usually spend wknds together and split groceries and shit_

    _**That’s pretty lucky, to get places that close**_

****     _Oh well i kinda own the building_

    _accidentally_

    _**Clint**_

**_Clint BAU Barton_ **

**_What the fuck does that mean_ **

****     _um_

    _okay well_

“Shit,” he mutters, and Tasha pokes him with her toes. “How do I explain how I, uh, got the building?”

Nat starts laughing because she is a little shit. 

“I mean it,” Clint whines, and she’s laughing even harder, shaking the couch cushions. “Fuck off.”

“Do you like this guy?” Nat asks, and even though she’s still laughing her eyes are pretty serious.

“Well…” Clint glances away and says, small, “yeah.”

“Then tell him the truth, суколик,” Nat says. Her voice is soft and sweet and she only speaks Russian when she’s comforting him, so —

“Hey, wait, which one is that?”

“The one you like.” She smiles sweetly at him and goes back to whatever she’s reading.

Clint chugs his coffee, and then goes to it.

    _okay so haha um i was looking to invest in some real estate here around quantico, there are some really nice areas and im pretty handy as long as i pay enough attention and dont like put nails in my thumbs_

    _and i was shopping around and found this building with an apartment i really liked for ME_

    _but when i started looking into it i found out it was owned by like, the mob_

_**Can we go back to the part where you’re nailing your thumbs**_

**_Cause it sounds like you’ve done that before_ **

**_Lksjfkasjfsdf the mob????? Are you even for real_ **

****     _yyyyyeah man so like the fbi busted them and i sort of wasn’t thinking and bought the building from the bank and now its mine_

    _my friend kate manages it cause im usually gone on cases and stuff_

    _it was a kinda dumb purchase_

    _**Clint**_

****     _what_

    _**How do you**_

**_A.ksdjasd_ **

**_How do you accidentally buy an entire apartment building_ **

****     _dude its not a big one like three floors, four apts each floor_

    _**That doesnt explain how**_

****     _okay so i was meeting with the police and the bank to close up the case and apparently they offered me first rights of purchase and I wasn’t like listening? so i said okay and they were like thatll be however many dollars and i said i have that many dollars and thats what happened_

    _are you laughing_

    _**Of course I’m laughing, you idiot**_

    _im sure i could have said oh wait no at some point but once i realized what was going on and that i really did have that many dollars i sort of said fuck it_

    _ive never owned a place where ive lived and it feels kinda nice_

    _**You know…**_

Clint grabs his coffee and hastily drinks some more. That got a bit… open, maybe, more than he’d intended, but Barnes has been texting with him for a while now and it feels good. It feels like there’s a chance that there’s maybe a thing.

    _ **So don't get me wrong, I’m still laughing**_

**_But I think you’re right. Steve and I share an apartment, and it’s a way nicer place than I ever thought was possible for us, growing up, but we don’t own it._ **

**_I think that has to feel pretty cool._ **

****     _yea its nice to have something to turn to that isnt serial murder killer people_

    _**Nat never answered me, is this your work phone**_

****     _nah so work requires a certain model and a certain plan but you buy the phone and take out the contract._

    _they subsidize some percentage of it but theyre not stupid they know we work dangerous jobs where we want to be in touch w fam and friends without worrying about the fuckign fbi_

    _although yes ur now in the bau archives as Bucky hot asshole Barnes_

_**I hate you** _

**__**     _no u dont_

_**Hmmmmm** _

**_What makes you so sure?_ **

“Oh my god,” Clint says out loud, almost like it’s all one word. “Nat, I think he’s flirting with me.”

Tasha only shifts her feet beneath his thigh and shrugs. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it was gonna _happen,_ ” he points out. His mug is empty. He holds it out to Nat with what he hopes is a really pleading expression on his face.

She sighs loudly, but stands up. “I will refill this,” she says, pointing, “but only if you flirt back.”

“Fiiiiiine,” Clint drawls.

    _the fact that u put me in ur phone as Nice Ass Barton_

    _**Well, I sure don’t hate your ass**_

Clint’s face heats up like a _motherfucker_ , and Nat’s already laughing at him from the kitchen, Christ, all people have done today is laugh at him, what the hell?

    _u seemed to be a fan of the whole package_

He only realizes after he sent it that _fuck_ , yeah, that means they’re gonna talk about it. Why is he so _bad at this?_

There’s a really long pause where Clint sits and wonders whether that crossed some sort of bro line he isn’t aware of, or if Bucky’s the kind of person who’s uncomfortable talking about that kind of thing, but then — 

    _**I remember being quite fond of it, yeah**_

**_But i dont have the best memory_ **

**_I may need a reminder at some point, if you’re gonna keep telling me ridiculous stories_ **

“Holy fuck,” Clint says, and drops his phone.

Nat _lunges_ at it, like zero to sixty, and she’s already swiping through the messages by the time Clint makes a grab at it.

“Give it back,” he says. “That’s _my_ emotional support flirting.”

Nat’s lips quirk up into a smile as she reaches the end.

“So does that mean what I think it means,” Clint bursts out, one long breath of words.

“I can’t read your mind and I don’t want to,” Nat replies. “But I think that’s an open invitation, both for more texting and maybe for you getting laid again.”

Clint chokes on the coffee and says through the resulting coughing, “That’s if I don’t fuck it up.”

Nat smiles, incredibly sweet and snarky at the same time. “That’s what tonight’s episode of DAS will be about then,” she says, and neatly tucks her toes back under the blanket.

Clint looks down and thinks, well, fuck it, right?

    _this ass isnt forgettable_

    _you must not have spent enough time with it yet_

    _**Fuck, Barton**_

**_You’re killing me here._ **

Clint smiles, a real smile: the same fond one he remembers Bucky smiling down at him on Friday morning. Shit, he’s so gone. 

    _feelings mutual_

    _**Well, then.**_

**_Sry gotta go Steve needs breakfast and w have no groc ery_ **

    _catch u later man_

He breathes in, breathes out. Huh. This is unexpected.

“We may need to start DAS early.”

“Clint.”

“What?”

Nat sighs. “It’s 1400. At least wait until 1700.”

“It’s five-o’clock somewhere,” he quotes at her.

She gives him a long look and then just shakes her head.

“Суколик.” Tasha sighs. “You two are going to be enormous pains in my ass until you’re married and living together, aren’t you,” she says, and Clint snorts his coffee again.


	2. Monday: that we were here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday arrives, and a fucking challenger appears.

Clint comes in to work on Monday morning still fucking hungover. DAS went _hard_ and Natasha drinks like she has vodka in her veins and Clint always makes the bad decision of keeping up with her. Then on Sunday when they’d finally dragged themselves off the couch like zombies, they’d tried to fight the hangover off with Clint’s best Bloody Mary recipe, which never works but they always try it anyway. Clint’s so glad to have a friend like Tasha who is perfectly willing to make terrible decisions with him.

He drops into his desk chair like the world is ending and puts his head down directly on his desk calendar. He notices that someone has drawn a dick on next Tuesday. Great.

“I knew it,” Pietro says from behind him, “all of the cases we are not invited to are actually parties, yeah?”

“Right,” Wanda adds. “I’m sure Coulson just writes it off as _other expense_. We are too young maybe? To be invited?”

“Go _away_ ,” Clint groans. “I am literally too fucked up right now to deal with both of you.”

He loves the Maximoffs, really. They’re new-ish to the Bureau, and had to put up with some shit for being foreign and for being twins who wanted to work together, until Clint made a stupid decision and took them both under his wing. It’s part a professional mentorship, part some kind of weird older-brother thing Clint didn’t know he wanted, and all of it is expressed in really profane insults that make everyone around them cringe. Except Natasha, who also loves them in a distant, vodka-aunt kind of way and is fluent in being an asshole when she wants to be.

“You and Natasha watched that show, didn’t you,” Wanda says, and Clint can hear the smirk in her voice. “The one you always watch, that ends up in vodka and crying.”

“There’s no crying.” Clint tries to shake his head without lifting it up; it doesn’t go well.

“I have gotten the three AM phone call from you, _Daddy_ ,” and fucking Pietro always uses that nickname in the worst possible way. “There is sometimes crying.”

“If you call me that again I will summon my own soul out of its grave and beat you to death,” Clint says, which is his way of saying he missed them too.

“Be nice to Clint,” says a new voice - Natasha, returning to the pit. Clint smells the coffee before she even sets it down next to his head. “He had a lot of excitement last week.”

“Oooh, a good unsub?” Wanda asks. “We don’t know anything about your case other than what Phil had us look up.”

Clint lifts his head, slowly, reaching for the coffee and wondering whether he can chug the whole thing in his poor broken state.

“No,” Natasha says, smug as fuck, and Clint glares at her as she smiles sweetly and articulates perfectly: “It wasn’t the case.”

“ _Ooooh,_ ” both Maximoffs say at the same time; Pietro adds at the end, all sultry, “ _Daddy._ ”

Clint lets his head fall back to the desk with a thud and says, “I’m quitting. Fuck you all.”

“Debrief in ten,” Coulson calls, “and Barton, you can’t quit until you file all your paperwork and hire your own replacement.”

Clint pushes himself upright, groaning loudly just to be annoying about it, and heads over to the kitchenette to see whether he can drink an entire pot of coffee in ten minutes. 

Turns out: he can.

They shuffle into their main conference room for the debrief and Clint sits in the back corner because fuckit, he was there for all the exciting stuff. On an impulse, he takes his phone out of his pocket. He’s already checked to make sure he didn’t send Barnes anything too embarrassing during DAS; they’d sent a few random comments back and forth, and Clint had apparently written three full paragraphs about his love for bagels, but luckily he hadn’t, say, gone on about Bucky’s mouth or how much he wants to meet up again. He can probably thank Tasha for that, which he’ll do as soon as he gets over being unreasonably angry with her about the hangover she doesn’t seem to have.

    _about to get debriefed on our case_

_very excited to relive all of that_

_i drank a whole pot of coffee just to stay awake_

He’s too hungover to give a fuck if it’s weird or not. If it is, Bucky won’t answer, and Clint won’t do it again. At least he remembers to turn his phone on vibrate.

Coulson starts their usual morning debrief. First he goes through and notes scheduling for the week - he likes to know when people will be off, because Coulson’s brain is weird and he needs to know who’s available at any given moment. Then they’re on to outlining last week’s case; Stark’s tablet sits on top of the speaker-sized mic as usual, recording all of it to text. Coulson starts off with Schmidt’s background story, and then outlines the killings one by one. This is normal; the cases can get really crazy, and Phil likes to make sure everyone ends up on the same page.

The phone buzzes.

    _**Let me know when you get to the part where I make the greatest shot ever.**_

Clint snorts, then turns it into a cough when everyone looks at him funny. He takes a sip of coffee to cover.

_look it was a great shot but i wouldnt. say greatets ever_

_**Don’t take this away from me. I want a trophy.**_

_yea illsend u one_

_itll look like a BAU coff ee mug but i promise its a trophy_

_**Fuck off, I’ll make my own.**_

Clint glances up to make sure he isn’t missing anything important. Natasha is giving him a very knowing look, but Phil’s still talking and no one else is looking his way.

    _i could stand up a d dramatically sing the marvel of ur accuracy is that betr_

_**I will pay you twenty dollars right the fuck now if you do that**_

**__** _tash would kill me_

    _**she’s gonna do it someday. May as well make it worthwhile**_

**** _yea put it on my. gravestone ded from the ballad of bucky Barnes_

_**Your typing is occasionally atrocious, by the way.**_

**__** _im in a fuckign meeting dude_

_**How do you ever solve crimes.**_

_u literaly just saw me do it last wk_

Clint glances up again. Even Tasha is ignoring him now. Perfect. Phil’s just gotten to the part where they apprehend the unsub, and Thor is listening with this excited look on his face as if _he’s_ going to be the one singing the ballad. Stark looks like he’s playing a game on his phone, and Bruce is almost asleep, head sagging. Well. At least Clint isn’t the only one tired.

    _ha coulson just summed up ur shot in on sentence_

_**Unfair. I demand a ballad. And a trophy.**_

**_And a bottle of good bourbon._ **

**** _so like old crow?_

_**oh my god**_

**** _old crow and a coffee mug. good times Barnes. classy_

Phil finishes the wrap-up, and Clint tunes back in to hear what they’ll be working on this week. He and Tasha have the paperwork from the Baltimore case, Tony’ll continue to review cases and calls in case they have to head out, Bruce is working on updating their DNA software to be portable, Thor’s doing whatever Thor does. The Maximoffs have been reviewing older cases, from the last three months, to see whether any of them look like unfinished business. Shuri and Skye launch into some technobabble explanation that gets Tony to drop his phone in excitement, and Phil kicks them all out of the room.

Clint’s head feels marginally better. Honestly, he feels better in general; the caffeine must be working on him, and snarking with Bucky is a really good feeling in general.

He sits down at his desk and opens up the live report. Nat’s working on the location summary, so Clint skips down in the document to start attaching victims and do the usual three-sentence summary of victimology for each. He glances down at his phone and catches the alert.

    _**I think this means you owe me a drink.**_

Clint laughs, partly from happiness and partly because Bucky’s so fucking good at flirting.

    _for that shot? I owe you a couple_

_gg its work time_

“Is that the new mistress, Daddy?”

“Pietro,” Clint says, turning back to his computer, “go to hell.”

——

It’s Monday afternoon and Bucky has no goddamn idea what he’s doing.

Steve, of course, has jumped right back into all the cases he was working before the BAU showed up; Steve, of course, can remember all the details no problem. Bucky spent the morning texting with Clint and staring at the files on his screen, tabbing back and forth between cases and trying to get his brain in gear.

He can’t stop _checking his fucking phone._ It’s getting annoying. Bucky is pissed at himself.

He’d managed to dodge Steve’s questions all weekend - they had a lot to do, clean out the fridge and both had laundry from the trip - and he’d managed to keep up a sporadic conversation with Barton that he _thinks_ was okay. Although Clint is funny as fuck on text as well as in person; Bucky laughed until he cried when he read Clint’s essay on bagels. He even read that bit aloud to Steve, and they both laughed until their guts hurt.

He’s gotta talk to Stevie. Soon. Bucky knows; he knows his head isn’t on straight and he’s only got one arm, and he sucks at this kind of shit, but there has to be a reason he can’t stop checking his fucking mobile and Bucky doesn’t think he likes the answer very much.

“Barnes,” Dernier says. “Stop flipping through all your files and just play Solitaire like the rest of us. You’re giving me a headache.”

Bucky leans back in his chair and puts his hands over his face. “Shut up,” he says conversationally. “I’m just havin’ a rough morning.”

“You miss your friends?” Morita asks. “I heard a rumor about you.”

“Yeah?” Bucky turns around, gives Morita what he hopes is a challenging look. “And what was that?”

“That you’re an asshole,” Dum-Dum says, and the Howlies have a good laugh.

“That’s not a rumor, that’s the truth.” Bucky shrugs, and there’s more good-natured laughter.

“Rogers said something about you being in a good mood,” says Jones. “But I’m not seeing it, boys.”

“I’m not sure we’ve ever seen Barnes in a good mood,” Falsworth tosses out, and Bucky snorts.

“Maybe I’m happy they’re gone,” he says, although even as he’s saying it he knows it isn’t - entirely - _fuck._

“What was that?” Jones asks, poking Bucky in his prosthetic arm. The Howlies are great about the arm: they never pretend that it doesn’t exist, they never pretend that it’s normal, but they’ll make fun of it like they make fun of everything else, and that somehow levels Bucky. Even Stevie didn’t look directly at it for three weeks after he had the thing fitted.

“Maybe it’s hard to focus on this fuckin’ 7-11 robbery when my brain’s still on serial killers,” Bucky bites out, and he realizes that’s the truth.

There’s a round of _oohhhhh_ s from the Commandos, and Dum-Dum nods sagely, as if it makes perfect sense.

“I prescribe an afternoon of Solitaire and phone games for you,” Dugan intones in a low voice, and there are nods all around, like he’s some kind of judge or official or something. “Get your head back in the right place, and come in tomorrow.”

“It’s not like we don’t occasionally slack off,” Morita says.

“All the time,” says Dernier. “Chief knows. It happens.”

Bucky shrugs. “I’m gonna go talk to Steve.”

“Right, get out of here,” Falsworth says primly. “We have work to do, champ.”

Bucky flips him off as he stands up.

Stevie has an office, of course, cause Steve’s a Detective Inspector while Bucky’s just a Detective Special Operative. Bucky actually prefers it out in the bullpen with the guys, but he never fails to give Stevie shit about it, because it’s fun.

“Stevie,” he whines as he enters, flopping down into the chair across from Steve’s desk. “I can’t concentrate out there. Can I work here, in your _office_?”

“Buck,” Steve starts, but he catches the look on Bucky’s face and starts laughing, which makes Bucky start laughing, and he already feels better just collapsing back into the seat and rubbing his hands over his face to stop the giggles.

“I really can’t concentrate,” he tells Steve through his fingers. “My brain’s still on serial killers and hostages. I just opened a case file where somebody stole Doritos from the 7-11 in fucking Poppleton and I can’t fucking care right now.”

Steve sighs. “I hear you. Hey, um, can you take a look at something and tell me what you think?”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure.”

Steve unlocks his phone, taps around for a bit, and then passes it over.

_Unknown Number:_

_Is this Detective Steve Rogers?_

    _**Yes. Who is this?**_

_This is SSA Natasha Romanoff, from the BAU._

_**Hi, Natasha. How can I help you?**_

**** _I wanted to let you know that SSA Tony Stark has just looked up your number and intends to text you. I’ve learnt from experience that it’s easier on the rest of us if someone warns the intended recipient first._

_**I have no idea what to say. He can text me if he wants to? My number’s in the phone book.** _

_Normally Tony reaches out for one of two reasons: because he wants something, or to flirt._

_In your case, it might be both._

_**um** _

_Don’t worry. Respond however you like. I just like to give prior warning, because Tony occasionally hits like a strike missile._

_**How do you know what he’s planning to do?** _

_I have my ways. Have a good day, Steve. I’ll talk to you soon._

Bucky spends a long second admiring the way they’re using all of the correct capitalization and punctuation, because he doesn’t always and Clint’s a fucking disaster. Then he realizes what he’s reading and hoots out loud with laughter.

“Bucky,” Steve says, in that _I really don’t think you should find this funny_ voice.

 _“_ Oh my _god,_ Steve,” Bucky gets out around a face full of laughing. “Steve. Tony Fucking Stark wants your number. How the fuck do you even do this?”

“I don’t know?” Steve sounds a little shaken, and a tiny bit amused, and a little scared. “I liked Tony, it’s fine for him to reach out if he wants.”

“He’s gonna ask you out,” Bucky chortles, still amused. “You’re gonna go off on a private jet and get married on Stark Island.”

“Bucky!” Steve hisses, and he gets up and closes the door _real fast._

Bucky swallows the rest of the laughter, because Stevie looks pissed. “Sorry, Stevie, but you gotta laugh at it a little.”

“I really don’t,” Steve says, but his face is a little more relaxed. “I just don’t want … the guys … to overhear anything.”

“The guys,” Bucky says with a grin, knowing that Steve really means Peggy. “Wait,” he says, scooting forwards to the edge of the chair. “Would you do it? Go out with Stark?”

“I,” Steve says, and fuck his face looks lost. “I don’t know.” He’s looking down at his hands, but then looks up at Bucky as if he’ll know the answer.

“Beer tonight,” Bucky says promptly. “Beer and pizza, and feelings.”

“I hate you,” Steve says, but he actually sounds grateful.

Bucky takes the chance to add _Natasha Romanoff_ to Steve’s contacts, and then adds her to his own contacts too, just in case. Finally, he texts Clint:

_**Text me when you’re off of work. Your girl just totally fucked up my boy and I NEED ADVICE** _

**_and someone to laugh with me_ **

He gives Steve his phone back, tucks his into his pocket, and heads back to his desk to play Solitaire for an hour or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So:
> 
> 1) I loved Pietro and Wanda with Clint in Ultron (one of the few goddamn things that movie did correctly) so you bet your ass I'm including them in the BAU  
> 2) Originally, there was some awkward love triangle action in the background of N;F, that was ultimately cut to make deadline. Here it comes. I'm not sorry.  
> 3) song title from Lights: _we were here_. good ass song.


	3. 3: hit the ground running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys get FEELINGS, it's cute, and Steve is confused

_dude so i asked nat an she just laughed at me_

_TELL ME EVERYTHING_

_ok wiat shes giving me her ponies_

_PHONE_

_oh_

_oh my god dude text me as soon as u an i need deGTAILS_

_also fuck my typing, I’m xrinking_

Clint has to set the phone down and slide it away from himself at this point because he’s not going to leave twenty texts for Bucky to come back to.

“It’s no big deal,” Tasha says. “I do this for most people Stark reaches out to.” She pauses. “The ones I like, anyway.”

Clint sets the beer down and slides _it_ away as well, because he doesn’t need a repeat of Hangover Morning. “How do you always know?”

“Tracer on his account whenever he hits the internal phone book.” Nat grins and winks at him. “Tony thinks because he’s a whiz, nobody around him could possibly have any skill at all. He’s very deceivable.”

Clint laughs. “Is this a habit of his then?” He shakes his head, and mutters, “At least I pick mine up _during_ the case.”

“Not sure if that’s better or worse,” Nat points out, “but yeah - Tony likes to network, so when he meets someone interesting, he reaches out afterwards.” She pauses. “They’re not all _dates,_ Clint. Tony reaches out for business reasons too.”

Clint closes his eyes to shut out the sudden vision of Tony Stark neatly picking up and sleeping with every police chief they’ve ever worked with, because he does _not_ need that image in his brain stem.

“Right,” Nat drawls, smirking at the look on Clint’s face like she knows exactly what’s in his head. “I’m out. I have yoga tonight and a book to read.”

Clint automatically pulls her close and kisses the top of her head, because it’s what he does, as much as he can without making Tasha feel weird. She’s so slow to accept physical comfort, and once Clint broke that wall down and realized how much she liked it, he considered it his job to give her as much touch as possible.

She sighs into him, because she always knows what he’s thinking. “Night, Clint,” she says, squeezing his hand before leaving the apartment.

Clint leans back into the couch and closes his eyes. He has a frozen pizza, and three beers, which seems perfectly fair since he’s still recovering from last week’s case. 

The chime from his phone wakes him out of a light doze, and he grabs it a little too eagerly.

    _**So you read it????? >**_

**_Dude, help me understand_ **

**_Steve is having a freakout and crying into an empty beer bottle_ **

**__** _wait, rly?_

_**No, you idiot, but he’s a little weirded out**_

**_People rarely pay attention to Steve. He isn’t used to this._ **

**__** _the fuck???? hes second only to you in total goddamn hunkbricks anyone with a sex drive would fuck_

_uh that came out weird_

_**nope, that came out absolutely right ;)** _

**** _are u flirting with me_

Clint has a long moment to completely regret writing that. What the fuck’s wrong with him? Asking so directly is not smooth at _all_.

    _**almost always, doll. Except right now I wanna figure out Stevie.**_

Wow. Clint’s cheeks _rush_ red and warm, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment before he even consciously notices the motion. Is this just how Barnes texts? Does he do this flirting thing with everyone, given the distance? It would be super flattering, Clint thinks, if Bucky meant it.

_**Also did you see how they text? Like perfect grammar and punctuation and shit** _

_omg rite tashas always like that christ and im not surprised steve is too_

_**I live by autocorrect, man. Is yours like, broken?**_

**** _fuck u_

_its turned off actually cause tony used to hack my phone and reprogram the autocorrects_

_so like every time i tried to write nats naem it said Spiderwoman insted of nat_

_an any texting to tony ended up saying i want to fuck iron man or something (thats his nickname)_

_and he replaced all of my swear words with harry potter jokes_

_so nowi keep it off_

_are u gonna be able to live w that_

_**Sure, with intermittent teasing. Although I’d love to see the Harry Potter jokes.**_

**** _omg dude they were so fuckin bad i almost threw my phone into the sink_

_**Is it weird that I want to see them even more now?**_

**** _LETS TALK ABOUT STEVE BITCHES_

_is he liek in love w u or ur police chief or someone else_

_is he married on hte astral plane_

_whats his status???????_

_**Oh, well**_

Clint waits for a while, figuring Bucky might be thinking about it, and then gets up to turn on the oven for his frozen pizza. He opens another beer while he’s at it, because beer is good for the soul.

    _ **Hey, can I ask you a question?**_

Clint pauses. Fuck. Are they going to do this now? His stomach spasms, but hey, maybe it won’t be bad, or maybe Bucky’s just asking about Steve, or— 

_Fuck it._ Clint breathes in, hard, and thinks about what Nat would tell him. For a moment he panics, because he wants Nat here, but then he remembers he’s supposed to be a functional adult and can probably think this though without a brain aneurysm.

Thing is, he does want Bucky. Clint knows that this was a random hookup with no expectations, but that doesn’t change the fact that to him, it felt like a buildup during the week that ended with something that could be — real? Okay, so he’s not great at this stuff. But all the interactions they had - before and after the, uh, mind blowing sex - felt different than the other, uh, hookups that Clint’s had. Not that Clint’s instincts are great, but it’s more like — maybe Bucky is worth taking the risk on?

Then again, maybe it’s a question about Tony.

He stands in the kitchen, holding the phone in front of him like it’s an epiphany, looking down at it, and then the oven dings that it’s at temp and Clint thinks: go for it.

    _anything, man_

Clint puts the pizza in the oven, feeling nerves churning in his gut like he’s fuckin’ fourteen again.

    _ **wow. you may regret that haha**_

**_i mean, thanks_ **

**_This is going to sound a little weird. And honestly, maybe I’m rushing it going here, but I’m really hoping you don’t mind me saying this._ **

**_Gimme a second._ **

Christ. The butterflies that were in Clint’s stomach are now exploding into fireworks. Nervous fireworks. He can’t do anything but sit and stare at his phone, and he drinks some beer, but he’s so hopeful and so holding it back, preparing for the easy letdown.

_**So, I wouldn’t have gone here except that Stevie’s business isn’t mine to share with a stranger, and I wouldn’t even be considering it except that it could help Steve out maybe, and it made me think** _

**_I was uh assuming since we swapped dicks and all that you were mostly a cool guy at least_ **

Clint can’t help the snort at that, but he continues to wait, his gut boiling like water.

_**So this is gonna sound bad but i want to know, can i trust you? With this?** _

**_like…_ **

**_am I reading all of this wrong or is there maybe a thing here that we both want to_ **

**_fuck_ **

**_i dont know what the right word is_ **

**_but like are we doing this? Are we getting to know each other better with this to see where it goes?_ **

**_i think I’m done now Jesus please say something_ **

**_for the record typing all of that made me want to barf and i hate talking about feelings so please let this be our only conversation that goes here_ **

**_im gonna throw my phone in the toilet_ **

Clint chokes. What the fuck do you say to something like that? It feels raw.

_please dont throw the phone in the toiler_

_i like talking to u and_

_fuck ok so_

_u say u dont like this but u dont understand how absoluteyl horrible i am at this kind of shit_

_**Are you seriously saying you’re worse than me** _

**__** _buddy i once accidetnally dumped somebody over text u dont want to go here i am the king of terrible_

_but like. yes_

_yes i like getting to knw u and yes i want to see where this goes_

_now delete all these texts before nat gets them off our phones_

_**Wow, that is a horrifying thought**_

**_It’s um._ **

**_It’s yes for me too._ **

Clint stops, and stares down at the phone, because now he really doesn’t know what to say. It feels like the butterflies have moved from his stomach into his heart, which is beating hard. In the end, he decides to go with brutal honesty.

_wow u may have just made my night_

After a long pause, Clint pulls his pizza out of the oven, throws it over his biggest cutting board, and brings it over to the couch so that he can watch _Bar Rescue_ while he eats.

_**Yeah, me too, man.** _

**_Fuck._ **

**_OK, do we have any other big declarations or can we talk about Stevie now_ **

**__** _we cna definitely move on toe steve i feel like thats enough o fa declaration for both of us unless we’re gonna try sexting or something_

_**oh my god.**_

**_NOT TONIGHT._ **

**__** _so its still on the table then_

_**CAN WE TALK ABOUT STEVE PLEASE**_

**** _yea sorry man i just like fuckign with u cause I cant be serious all the time_

_**Clint. Jesus.** _

Clint starts laughing out loud, and then he shoves a piece of pizza in his mouth.

_ok so steve_

_can i call him stevie_

_**I don’t give a fuck, I just want a better understanding of why Natasha felt she needed to text him.** _

**__** _right wo_

_stark likes to gather up ppl he meets and make contacts for his netwrk and apparently he had his eyes on your boy_

_tash says it isn’t always for dating but u know your boy and tony were bonding during th e case man_

_**So why Natasha?**_

**__** _so nat is like everywons bro right nad she has alerts set up and shir on all of us_

_shes noticed tonys tendency to do this and thinks its helpful so give warning_

_**Okay, but. What are the chances of Stark asking Steve out for real?**_

**_This is why I - if I’m talking about Stevie, I need to know I can mostly trust the person, you know?_ **

**__** _hey man look i know theres no proof but im v seriously not gonna fuck w u or stevie youre both awesome ppl and a,so im not that guy_

_im hoping theres enough context that u believe me a little bit_

_**I do. I wouldn’t have asked if there wasn’t**_

**_god fuckit you know what I mean_ **

**__** _yea sorry i might have just wanted t hear u say it a second time_

_**Are you flirting with me?**_

**** _pretty much_

_like all the time_

_i cant stop myself_

_ANYWAY so steve_

_talk to me_

_**So file this under shit you don’t need to tell anyone, okay?**_

**__** _lips sealed man_

_**no comment on your lips, please note my restraint**_

**_Yeah, Steve has a crush on Carter. It may even be mutual. I watch it and it looks like there’s something there._ **

**_But they’ve been in this awkward commanding officer - reporting soldier / detective thing for so long, I’m not even sure either one has recognized it as something real y’know_ **

**** _i hear that man_

_is he even gay_

_ok thats a rought one I apologize_

_**Nah buddy don’t worry. Steve and I are both bi.** _

**_Otherwise I would have stolen his phone and texted Natasha back something different._ **

**__** _rigth but would he actually date stark_

_thats the question_

_where we either let this happen or stop it early bc were decent human bheings_

_**I… dont know. I told him we were gonna talk about it tonight but he went for a run when we got home**_

**_I don’t think he likes thinking about it that much_ **

**** _ok thats fair_

_i feel like we have an opportune here to encourage this or spot it early_

_stop it early christ mayeb i do need autocorret back_

_**are you around tonight?**_

**** _I mean yeah until i fall asleep on my couch under 20 blankets w my fuckin hearing aids in but yea_

_**You really are a disaster, aren’t you.**_

**** _i think u like this disaster buddy_

_**Well, I’m hoping to talk with Steve before anything *dramatic* happens from your end, but if I can text you while we talk, I’ll feel better**_

**_and maybe. What are you gonna do about it?_ **

**__** _continue ti flirt forever_

_and probaly be around for your dumb ass tonight does that woerk_

_**Yeah, world’s most horrible typist. It works.**_

_jesus mcChrist, fuck u_

——-

Bucky is just finishing up the taco meat when Steve comes back through the door, breathing hard and sweaty as hell for October. 

“Fuck,” Steve says, “that smells good.”

“Watch your language,” Bucky taunts back. He adds a pinch of cayenne and a bit of chili powder - his secret - and turns the heat down a bit, hoping the sauce will thicken. “These are almost done, go shower, you tool.”

“Such a fuckin’ jerk,” Steve mutters, but he kicks his shoes off by the door and heads down the hall to his shower. 

Bucky stacks all the taco shells against each other, propping them up carefully, and microwaves them with a paper towel over the top; he and Stevie can eat the entire box of tacos on a normal night, and Steve went for an extra run, so they’re likely to need all of them.

He grabs his phone. He’s loathe to detach himself from Clint, which is stupid, but there’s this underlying current in his veins that feels like a low steady burn of electricity. He hadn’t _meant_ to go there, and he’s _not_ the guy that goes there, like ever, but he had seen an opportunity that meant it would be maybe less awkward there than anywhere else. And he really is protective of Steve - their business is their business - but he’s also been… a little curious.

The fact that it had not only worked to get his point across but gotten a positive response means 95% of his brain is focused on the high-def replay of Clint bent over on that bed, which is amazing but not very helpful for making tacos.

Bucky snaps a pic of all of the fixings and then sends it to Clint.

_**It’s taco Monday here.** _

_wow impressive_

_i had frozen pizza_

_like, i had teh whole pizza_

_**I’m not jealous, this is way better.** _

Steve comes out of his bedroom, in sweats and a tee that their neighbor Sam got for him that says _It’s still a size too big_ \- Sam bought a small, because Sam is a wonderful version of terrible - and immediately shoves Bucky aside to help himself to four tacos.

“Christ, Stevie, leave some for the starving kids in Africa,” Bucky says, reaching for his own plate.

“You know that isn’t funny,” Steve says, digging out a spoonful of sour cream the size of Rhode Island and slapping it on his plate.

“Neither are you,” Bucky shoots back, but he makes his four tacos just the way he likes them and comes over to sink into his side of the couch.

He and Steve normally eat dinner like this: they each have a side of the couch and an end table to fill with whatever they like, along with the shared coffee table where they keep the remotes and the tablet and some other crap. Bucky sets his plate down carefully on the armrest of his couch - he has become a professional at this, thank you very much - and nabs the remote so that he can set it to HGTV. He and Steve had always dreamt about rebuilding houses, and even though it’s now an unlikely career choice for either of them, they love watching these shows. Steve has a particular soft spot for Fixer Upper, because he likes Chip and Jo and their family, and the way they’ve let the show follow the kids growing up. They continually argue over which one of them is Chip and which is Jo. It’s a losing argument.

“You’re not gonna get out of this by filling your mouth with tacos, punk,” he says on the next commercial break.

Steve groans and rolls his eyes. “How come you get to sit in your little world and share nothing, but I have to immediately dump my heart out?”

Bucky snorts. “Cause you’re like twenty-four times more likely to ever dump your heart out, Stevie, and also because you know you want to talk about it.”

Nevertheless, he picks up his phone.

_**Does it matter if Steve knows?** _

**__** _aw hell no man_

_nat just looked at me an d immediately knew what happened_

_qnd she jut gives u this look and next thing u know ur telling her something horrible land embarrassing that happens when u were like, 14_

_**Okay. I just didn’t want to share private business if it wasn’t okay with you.**_

**__** _shit should i have asked_

_now i feel like a dick_

_**Clint, I’ve met Nat. It’s okay. I expected it the morning after, the way she looked at me.** _

**__** _well if u need to then tell ur best friend too_

_i dont like_

_it doesnt have to be a big secret man_

Bucky sighs, and then shifts himself into a comfortable lean against the arm of the sofa. “Are you suggesting we trade, Rogers?”

Steve starts, and looks away from where Chip and Jo are roaming an antique shop. “Buck,” he says, almost disbelieving, “are you offering a trade? You? Your personal business? You realize,” he continues, with this self-satisfied smirk, “that the offer alone tells me something big happened.”

Bucky keeps his body language casual and tips his voice just a bit towards sweet. “Whatever, Steve, we’re best friends, right? We can talk about this kind of thing, right?”

Steve huffs, turning back to the TV where Chip is trying to get Jo to buy him a creepy baby doll head.

    _ **I think I just destroyed Steve’s mind by volunteering to trade information.**_

**__** _omg u tricky fuckbag_

_GOOD WORK_

_KEEP GOING_

“Hey,” Bucky says, and turns the volume down. “We really don’t have to do this, Stevie, but I feel like it’s about time you talked about it with somebody.”

Steve sighs, this big long sigh that lasts for almost a full minute.

“Tell me about Peggy,” Bucky says. He knows that this is Steve’s biggest weak point. He’s had a thing for Peggy for years, but Bucky honestly isn’t sure whether it’s a real thing or if it’s some kind of hero worship Steve knows he’ll never obtain and therefore is safe to dream about — or, if it’s the kind of thing he thinks he’s supposed to be feeling and has constructed out of their situation. Steve always says it’s complicated, but to Bucky, if you like and want a person bad enough, you can always find a way to get them. Their path confuses the hell out of him.

“Are you serious?” Steve lolls his head across the couch, looking over at Bucky. “If you want to do this, I have two rules.”

“Speak up.”

“First rule is that I get a question every time you ask a question. Second rule is that we skip the rest of the beer and bring out the rum.”

 _Jesus._ Steve rarely suggests drinking; they’re both too fixated on their jobs (and their bodies, Bucky will admit, because he has vain moments) to drink much, which means when they do, it becomes A Thing. It usually means that Steve really wants to talk but doesn’t want to admit it.

“Okay, I agree.” Bucky stands up, takes Steve’s beer over to the sink and sets it in the plastic bag they have for recycling along with his own. He grabs the rum and two shot glasses, and snags two Cokes from the fridge, cause they’ll both want a chaser. He normally wouldn’t do this at all, except - except that he spent the entire day on edge, unable to focus - except that Steve seems really confused about his choices - except that he had something similar to an adult conversation earlier tonight - except that a couple days ago he shot a serial killer through a perfectly aligned window and it worked, and he’s still thrumming with _that_ , let alone the rest of it.

Plus, Carter knows how much they worked. If they need to call in tomorrow morning, they have leverage.

He sets everything down on the coffee table in front of them, and Steve pours two shots while Bucky opens both cans of Coke.

“I don’t believe we’re doing this on a Monday,” Steve says, but his grin is all trouble, because Steve is the original little shit and Bucky knows this as a fact.

He surreptitiously snaps a pic of the shots on their coffee table and sends it off to Clint. “Here we go,” he says, picking his up. 

Steve toasts him: “Skål,” and Bucky counters with “за здоровье!” and they both drink.

“Okay, man,” Bucky says, when the burn is down his throat. The thing is: he and Steve do have these meaningful conversations from time to time, but they haven’t had one lately — and Bucky feels like some major things shifted while they were working the BAU serial killer case. He isn’t really sure how to proceed, other than praying to the god of rum and following his instincts.

“Okay, Stevie, I’m starting with the big one,” he begins, keeping his voice soft. “Tell me about Peggy.”

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, across the top of his Coke can, and he reaches to pour another shot already. “Buck, I can’t - look, this is hard, okay?”

“Jesus Christ, Stevie, it’s just me,” Bucky points out, a little bit irritated. “We’re in the privacy of our own home and I’m just thinking you might want to get it out.”

The phone in his hand buzzes, and he glances down.

    _wow look at u this is more serious than i thought_

_wait is that rum_

_yiure fuckin gross barnes_

“I’m not staring at you. I’m just texting over here,” Bucky says softly, “and listening to you, if you want me to. It’s all good.”

They sit, Steve stonily staring at the TV, until their Cokes are gone and Steve has to get up to get them new ones.

_**It’s Steve’s favorite. I don’t know why, but I can swing with any alcohol, to be perfectly frank.** _

_well ha bloody ha good for u but tequila and I broke up ten years ago in cancun and we dont 3ven look at each other anymore_

_**I WANT TO HEAR THIS STORY** _

“Buck,” Steve begins, and Bucky looks up only to choke on it: Steve looks so _sad,_ honestly, and he fucking hates when Steve isn’t okay. 

“You know how it is,” Steve says, all in a rush. “You know I’d - I’d do it in a second, Buck, I wouldn’t even chicken out, I’d ask as soon as possible - except. You know.”

Bucky swallows. “Hey, Stevie, there are other options. It doesn’t have to stop you. If you tell her, and she’s interested, there are plenty of other things open for both of you so that you aren’t in a direct report thing.”

“Right,” Steve says bitterly, and the shot glasses are refilled, so Bucky downs his and then makes a note to text Carter if they keep going at this rate. “Except that Peg- that Chief Carter needs both of us now, in the positions we’re in, to help support her initiative, and the last thing I’m going to do is abandon her for my own stupid—”

“Your own stupid what, Stevie?” Bucky drawls. “That was just getting good.”

“Okay, _fuck you,_ ” Steve says, but he’s laughing as he downs his own shot. “Your turn.”

Bucky slouches back into his corner of the couch, deliberately posing himself for maximum sass, and says, “What are you askin’, Steve?”

“You didn’t come home, Thursday night,” Steve says, and he’s pitched his face into that super-young and super-innocent version he usually saves for interrogations, and Bucky’s already laughing because Steve’s so obvious with it that it’s funny. “Where were you?”

“Hmmm,” Bucky says, rather savoring the moment. “Out for dinner and drinks. And then some dancing.”

“And then?” Steve prods, pouring the third shot, and there’s the thing: Steve and Bucky both can drink well above their weight class, mainly because the Army taught them how to, so Bucky isn’t entirely worried about the drinks and tomorrow; it means he’s right, and it’s Steve’s notification that he wants to have a real conversation tonight but blame it on the booze tomorrow. It’s cool. Neither of them is a really highly functioning adult that’s cool with their emotions. This is the system that they have, and it works.

“And then a hotel room,” Bucky purrs, sliding his glass over and drinking it down in one swallow, followed by a refreshing chug of the Coke, still cold.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve says, but it sounds like he’s laughing as he says it. “And was he good?”

The language means Steve has figured out exactly who it was, which doesn’t surprise Bucky - they’re both detectives - but it means that Bucky can draw this out for maximum points.

He takes a breath, and then says in a rush, “So fuckin’ good, Stevie,” because it’s true, and after the conversation they had earlier, he just wants to say it. “Really fuckin’ good.”

“Good,” Steve says with emphasis, and then asks, “so what’s next?”

“You’re fuckin’ next,” Bucky says. “Ain’t done with you yet, Stevie. Talk to me about Carter, and about Stark, then.”

Steve needs a moment to gather his thoughts so Bucky opens his texting.

_**Steve seems proud of me. I feel weird** _

**__** _dude when nat came back that morning (u kno she figured it out right away) she was like werdly proud so y ea_

_**I feel like that should be strange, but I’m also kind of pleased with it** _

**__** _ffffffff man u w ere pleased witha the night to begin with_

_**Fuck yes I was.** _

**_Does your ego really need this much attention?_ **

_yes_

“The thing is, Buck,” Steve begins, and Bucky immediately abandons his phone because Steve’s voice is a little too raw to be anything but a confession, and sure they don’t do this emotional thing all the time but they’ve done it enough for Bucky to know when Steve’s really opening up.

“I just - I always thought I was meant for someone like Peggy,” Steve whispers, and like, a quarter of Bucky is feeling guilty for bringing this up, while the other three-quarters of him is so happy to finally be getting this out of Steve. Steve has sat on it for years, and Bucky has chosen the path of least resistance, but Steve’s not like him: Steve needs things out, and growing - growing or recycled, because some things won’t grow - and there’s a huge portion of his voice that’s just relief.

“I thought it would just be like, bam, I meet a girl and she’s perfect and we fight things together and win together and then we marry and have some kids.” Steve’s head ducks down, now, looking away like he doesn’t want Bucky to see. “Is that dumb?”

“Shit, Steve, that ain’t dumb.” Bucky reaches out, resting his hand on Steve’s shoulder, his thumb running along the top of Steve’s shoulder, through his t-shirt. “I mean, life don’t always work like that, but ‘s not like it’s a bad thing to hope for.”

“It just,” Steve begins, and then he slams his Coke can down on the coffee table, which means he’s getting frustrated now; Bucky reaches out and pours another rum shot, keeping it deliberately lighter than usual. 

“It’s been _years,_ Buck, and we served under her over there, and then we came back and now we’re under her here, and Peggy Carter has so much to fuckin’ offer this world, so why should I try to do anything other than support all of her work and her efforts?” Steve stops, reaches out, pounds the shotglass and chases it with Coke. “Sometimes I think I should just give up: let her go her own way, and let me go look at somewhere different.”

Bucky bites his lip and doesn’t know what to say, because it makes sense on both sides of the argument, and he’s never good at this shit but he also has already used up the few cards he had to play on talking to Clint earlier tonight and has nothing to offer Steve except a presence listening to him: he has no advice, nothing smart, nothing good.

_**This may be a little fucked up, man.** _

_aw shit DO TELL_

“So, yeah,” Steve finishes, and his hand tightens around the empty can of Coke, crushing it into a bow tie. “At this point, Bucky, if Tony Goddamn Stark wants to call and take me out for an expensive dinner, why would I bother to say no?”

Bucky swallows, because that isn’t exactly the best attitude for starting any kind of relationship, but - but his _own_ logic had been, literally, _this guy has a really nice ass and wants to go chill over some beers,_ and it isn’t like that’s anything noble at all. 

‘Stevie,” he says, and he turns the volume back up, slouching against his corner of the couch again. “You’re allowed to do that, if you want. Just make sure it’s what you want, man.”

“Can we be done?” Steve asks. “I wanna be done.”

“We were just getting started,” Bucky says.

“Whatever,” Steve says, snorting. He then rubs his hand through his hair and says quietly, “I think I… I think I need to think about it some more. You’re right to make me talk about it; I’ve kind of just been ignoring all of it, for a long time now. But I don’t know…” He sighs. “I hate that you’re right,” he adds.

Bucky laughs. He raises his arm, and Steve makes a really pouty face, but ends up sliding in so that his head is resting on the pillow propped against Bucky’s thigh.

_**OK, I’m not typing it all out now** _

**_I’ll catch you up soon._ **

**__** _np man text or call whatever_

**_Goodnight, Clint._ **

_night Bucky_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) title from _Hit the Ground Running_ by Alice Merton - another great song.  
> 2) had this written for DAYS but was visiting a friend and couldn't post from tablet  
> 3) SUCH SAPPY  
> 4) bye


	4. 4: officially obsessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter in which:  
> \- we start exploring other peoples' heads a little!  
> \- the fic finally shows its head as a character & relationship exploration/development study rather than messing around w plot  
> \- time starts to actually move
> 
> read on ...

A case pops up that takes over Clint’s week. They’re out in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, investigating two home invasions that have left three dead, but with no obvious signature. It complicates the profile; they have to consider failed robberies that “accidentally” turned into murder as well as all the other motives they usually watch. It certainly isn’t always a serial killer, but they’ve traveled just to be sure.

He and Wanda spend 36 straight hours awake, reviewing the details of the crime scene, and can’t find anything linking them. They stay over the weekend, but unless there’s a third case that ties everything together - Clint fucking hopes not - they’ll have to leave on Monday. 

This time Stark is here with Shuri assisting, as Bruce is making some kind of breakthrough on the GC-MS down in the HQ lab and didn’t want to be disturbed. Clint loves Shuri because she is number one at giving Tony Stark piles of shit, and it keeps them entertained enough on the surface to make it through these kinds of cases.

Natasha sends Clint and Wanda back to their hotel rooms eventually, because she and Coulson and Pietro can review everything they found, and Clint’s starting to see sparkles at the edges of his vision.

Alone in his hotel room - Wanda and Pietro share - Clint pulls out his phone. He’s curled up in a nest of blankets and pillows, just like he likes, and realizing that 36 hours is a really fuckin’ long time to be awake.

    _sry man im on a case ibve been up s long i think i can taste colors_

_dont even kno if its our case or local yet even_

_are u awake what time is it even_

Clint checks his phone immediately after sending that and wants to die. Christ. It’s 20:26 in Milwaukee and his brain can’t even remember how to translate that to home time. He feels like his head is full of cotton balls and, like, crumpled paper.

    _**Maybe you should be sleeping, then. I’m not sure purple tastes very good.**_

Clint snorts. Thank fuck. He’s gotten weirdly used to chatting with Bucky. He can fully acknowledge (although not to Nat) that this is his usual pattern of getting in too deep way too quickly, cause it’s like barely a week and he’s gotten into the habit of checking his phone regularly in case he misses something. Clint is also well aware that this is his usual recipe for disaster: falling way too fast, rushing things, and ruining it all. 

Right now he’s a little too tired to think that through, though.

    _cn i ask afavor_

_**Yeah, what’s up** _

**** _tell me a story from today_

_tyhat has nothing to so with murder or bodiesor anyhting like that_

He pauses. It’s so _needy._ But whatever. He’s so _tired:_ bone-tired, exhausted down to the veins, too tired to sleep _._ If Bucky were here they’d be back at that bar, winding down with beer and conversation. This is the closest thing he can think of at the moment.

_**Alright so today i had to investigate a series of frozen pizza robberies from three different gas stations. It’s supposed to be normal police work, but one of the owners threw a fit, so they called in the task force.** _

**_turns out he was just racist. Next!_ **

**_Stevie and I fuckign pranked Jonesy hard. He was mad because we stole his favorite pillow during that last case, so Stevie figured out how to rig his desk chair to collapse every time he sat down in it, no matter if he tried to fix it or not. Fuckin grand. Happened 6 times before Carter came out and yelled at him_ **

**_I played six games of solitaire and Dum Dum is the current Candy Crush champion._ **

_**More?** _

_frozen pizza robberies are u sure it wasnt me_

_**I’m pretty sure you’re out in bumfuck somewhere, America, so yeah**_

**__** _i wish it were me im hungry but too fuckin tires to get up_

_**There’s this wonderful invention called delivery.**_

**** _fuc u_

_do u hav pics of that prank_

_**Yeah, here, lemme send you one. Don’t show the FBI** _

Clint waits as it loads. The chair’s on its side on the ground, a good-looking black man sprawled on his back, legs tangled in the chair’s legs and arms akimbo. Behind him, three of the other policemen and Rogers are laughing their asses off. Clint can’t help but laugh too imagining the story in his head.

_thx man_

_its been a long day_

_**No problem. Go to bed. Unless you need another story.** _

**** _what else u got_

_**hmmmmmmm**_

**_Stevie’s been flirting more obviously with Carter, but I’m not sure anything’s happening there_ **

**_The guys know I’m texting someone from the case, but they didn’t really work with you guys as much, so they don’t know who_ **

**_so far I’ve been accused of wanting to transfer, thinking of quitting, getting a promotion, boning all of you, some twice, and I’m pretty sure there’s a betting pool on who it is that they think is a. Secret._ **

**** _omggggggggggg_

_whos winning the pool_

_**I don’t know yet, but for tomorrow’s prank I’m sneaking into Monty’s desk to find out.**_

**** _plz let me kno_

_**of course**_

**_You okay?_ **

Clint swallows. It’s so… it’s so nice. His chest warms at it. It’s probably just reflex for Barnes, but there’s something about being asked by someone _not_ on his team, not from the BAU — someone who doesn’t work with him, who’s just asking because.

    _yea man i promise just tires_

_tireD_

_**Go. To. Sleep.**_

**_Or I won’t update you on the bet tomorrow._ **

**** _jesus fuck man ur harsh_

_going to sleep bow_

Clint waits, because it looks like Bucky’s typing something - typing, and deleting, and typing again.

    _**Did you build yourself a giant pillow nest like last time?**_

Clint’s face heats up — not because he’s embarrassed about his hotel sleeping habits, _fuck you very much,_ but because he remembers waking up curled around Bucky, naked and warm, skin and muscle and stubble.

    _is there any other way to sleep_

_**It was surprisingly comfy. Too hot though.**_

**** _it isnot my fault ur a giant heat machine_

_**It might have been your fault.**_

**** _omg stop flirting i need sto sleeeepepeeeeeee_

_**Clint, thats terrible**_

**_definitely done flirting now_ **

**** _save it from tomorrow_

_itlk be better_

_**Go the fuck to sleep, you fuckin idiot**_

Clint sends an upside-down smiley face emoji, because why not, and tosses his phone onto the nightstand next to his aids. He’s asleep in seconds.

———

Steve closes the door to his office. The guys in the bullpen are in the middle of a heated discussion on the relative merits of sandwiches vs subs, and Peg— Chief Carter’s out for lunch today with the local police chief, and he needs to take some time and think.

It’s all Bucky’s fault. That’s clear to Steve from the very beginning.

Not that he’s going to admit that Bucky’s right. (He usually doesn’t.)

There’s something he’s always loved about Peggy, and it’s likely he always will: her drive, her adherence to perfection, the way she can break down walls just by scowling at them, the way she pushes everyone around her to be their best self. It’s something Steve has tried to take from her as a mentor, although he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do it nearly as well as she does. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t do anything as well as she does.

But now Bucky has him thinking (damn it, Buck, that isn’t fair), and Steve’s trying to not let it turn into a panicky moment about where he wants to go with his life. 

The thing is… Steve likes where he is.

He likes being on the task force; he likes picking up the tricky cases, he likes helping the local force target new things, and he likes being able to see in numbers the effect that they’re having. He likes working for Carter. He likes working with the Commandos. He likes living with Bucky, their nice apartment and messy kitchen and perpetually leaking washing machine (he’s tried to fix it three times with no success).

It feels stupid to say _change is scary_ , though, because it isn’t, but this might be the first time in their lives that they’ve had a - a _break_ , kind of, although it isn’t the right word (Bucky would be laughing his ass off right now). _Stable:_ that’s the word Steve wants. This two year stint has taught them how to live outside the chaos that was their childhood and the absolute mess of the Army, and Steve loves having it.

They won’t be here forever. Bucky’ll get bored (Bucky always gets bored), or the task force will move, and that’ll be fine. Steve just wants to enjoy this little bit while they can.

It’s funny, because between the two of them, Bucky’s the antisocial grump, but: Steve has always admired how, underneath (and before) that attitude, Bucky has never had a problem just _going_ for what he wants — once he knows he wants something. Steve’s outgoing and friendly and charming, and he likes getting to know people far more than Buck does, but it’s somehow harder for him.

(Not that he would ever admit that, either.)

And if he were to ask Peggy to - ask her on a date - and assuming they went on a few (Steve hopes he’s nice enough for more than one date), they’d eventually have to re-evaluate their work relationship. And that means either Peggy or Steve would have to change positions. And Steve _likes_ being her right-hand man. (Buck. Stop laughing.)

But does he like that more than he’d like being her ...partner?

He doesn’t know. (Of course he doesn’t know). Steve thinks he’d like to kiss her. He thinks he’d like to greet her when she comes home, have a dinner ready, hold her at night. He thinks he’d like that a lot. But he _knows_ he likes it now. So what’s that mean?

He knows he has to make the first step, too. Peggy may gently respond to his comments, soft blushes or tight lips trying to avoid a smile, but she’s far too aware of their reporting relationship to do anything that might sound like an order. Steve knows he needs to be the one to do it.

So why hasn’t he? (Buck. Shut up.)

It’s so dumb that it’s the concept of someone else asking him out on a date that has gotten him here. Steve should have stepped up long ago. And yet - Steve never wants to be the thing that somehow, deliberately or not, holds Peggy back. And yet: what if dating someone else helps him clear up his own feelings? And yet again — is that fair to anyone?

Steve sighs out loud, and rubs a hand over his face. This thought circle is going absolutely nowhere. Steve gets up and heads down to the lunchroom.

(Fucking Bucky.)

———

_**Tell me a story.** _

**_I told you one._ **

**_I want to hear about the tequila breakup._ **

_oh jesus why did u remember that_

_**How could I forget that** _

**** _alrite fine but u cant tell nat i tolr u_

_**cross my heart and hope not to die because she could probably kill me** _

**__** _yep we alllive in fear_

_okay so this was years ago right when nat and i had joinsed teh BAU_

_our first time off together when we head actual money_

_an nat n i didnt have great chilldhoods or anythin so we used to joke about going to cancun 4 spring break liek normal college kids do_

_so we did_

_**Oh, god, please tell me there are pics** _

**__** _neither confirm nor deny_

_so were there havin fun hangin out etc and like the third day or somwthing we get completely fuckihn hanmmerd_

_body shots everywhere_

_me nat the bartenders the other ppl at the bar there’s just tequila and salt and limes on every available body part_

_**i reiterate my desire for pics**_

**__** _APPARELTY i wandered off and fell asleep on the dloor of the womens bathroom so tasha took me up to ebd_

_next morning i wake up head pounding etc and nats not in bed_

_the rm is a disaster btw sheets everywhere I’m sleeping in like a pillowcase or somethin theres clothes on the ceiling IDEK_

_**OMG I am laughing SO HARD** _

_so i get up n im lookin for nat. check the bathrm not there.check the balcony not there. im like, wtf_

_so i thnk maybe she went down for breakfast. but no note. tasha always leaves a note_

_so m like maybe shes dwon at the breakfast bar in the lobby cause u can see it from the hallway the hotel was this like big atrium_

_so i leave the rm an dlook but no_

_at this point m like shit_

_i kno nat’s not dead cause shed kill naything that tried even drunk but im thinkin_

_**FUCK**_

_is there abody? is she hiding a body_

_thr fuck would she go_

_**hahahahahaaahahahahahaaaaa omg** _

**** _so im freakin out in the rm and i suddenly hear this noise_

_i look down and there are toes sticking our of the comforter on the floor_

_i start to unroll it_

_its like a fuckin tortilla dude_

_nat aparently decided that rolling herself up in the comforter like a fuckin burrito and sleeping on the floor at the foot of the bed was a great idea_

_**OH MY FUCKING GOD**_

**** _id been looking for her for a HALF HOUR and she was on the fuckin floor wrapped up like a fuckin enchilada_

_**IM CRYING** _

_needless 2 say when we finally emerged from the rm neither one of us coul d even SMELL tequila within wanting to barf so_

_n we still cant drink it_

_so thats that_

_**oh my fucking GOD** _

**_this was even better than I had originally imagined_ **

**_You are priceless_ **

**__** _one day nat wil find it funny rather than embarasing I’m sure_

_**Thank you. Fuck, I needed that laugh.** _

**__** _you ok?_

_**Yeah. Just a long day.** _

———

Natasha’s always a bit careful walking into what they call the IT Room. It’s a roll of dice on what’s behind that door: endless chatter, exploding experiments, the guts of some monstrous invention they haven’t told anyone about. Natasha doesn’t like surprises. She always prepares herself for the worst.

Luckily, the room’s relatively quiet as she slips in. It’s a long-ish room, with a nice extended desk in each corner, each one having at least three monitor screens (Shuri, for whatever reason, has five). Skye and Shuri sit next to the door to the left and right, respectively. The two corners in the back are for Bruce and Tony. There are two tables down the middle of the room which are currently covered in paperwork and discarded electronic parts. 

The first thing she hears is a friendly beep, and Tony’s robot assistant DUM-E rolls over to greet her. The thing has the personality of a friendly but stupid dog, and Natasha makes sure to pet its metal head, because she thinks it’s quaint.

“Natasha!” Skye announces, spinning her chair around to face the door. “What’s up?”

Shuri doesn’t turn around, but she says, “Hello, Natasha.”

“I’m looking for Tony,” Natasha says.

“Ooooh, he’s in trouble,” Skye sings out. She’s very cheerful. Skye was what she proudly calls a “justice hacker” before the BAU caught her and offered her the choice of employment or jail. Coulson had made Natasha and Clint a similar offer years ago, so it doesn’t surprise Natasha that Skye has so easily fit in with the rest of the BAU crew. Her specialty is, well, hacking, but she builds a lot of the code they use to search and refine their databases.

“He is always in trouble,” Shuri chimes in, turning around to quickly give Natasha a smile. Shuri’s another transfer agent from a different division, like Thor, but Natasha isn’t sure Shuri’s ever going to leave. She and Skye have truly hit it off, and Shuri loves working with Tony’s holograms. 

“He’s back in the lab with Bruce,” Skye adds on. “They’re working on whatever science thingy Bruce made for the G-C-Whatever that’s supposed to revolutionize the world.”

“Actually,” Shuri begins, “it’s — never mind.” Her screens are scrolling faster than even Natasha can follow. “Look at this, I was scanning public webcams, there’s a moose destroying a traffic light in Mont-Tremblant.”

“Why are you watching Canada?” Natasha asks, as Skye jumps out of her seat to come look.

“For moose,” Shuri states, as if it’s obvious.

“Put it on YouTube,” Skye suggests, through her giggling.

“I’ll be back,” Natasha says. The double doors at the back of the room lead into the first of their many analytical labs, where they can rush analysis of trace evidence when they need to. It isn’t her area of expertise, but she likes the concept: the way these instruments slowly pick apart an unknown and present a set of clues to define what it is. She’s considered doing a training period in the labs, once Clint and Coulson don’t need her on the team as much. It’s not something she’d like to do forever, but it’s something she’d like to know more about.

Bruce and Tony are together, of course, bickering happily over one of the giant instruments. Bruce is pointing at some kind of extension he’s built out of tubing, and Tony is gesturing wildly in the air, because it’s Tony.

“Spider approaching!” Tony yells once he sees her, because he thinks he’s funny.

“Natasha,” Bruce greets her. He’s smiling, relaxed; it looks good on him. “Tell Tony that adding an extra detector to the GCMS is going to help refine the data.”

“Tell Bruce that it’s redundant,” Tony retorts.

Natasha pitches her voice to its blandest. “I am sure the thing will do the thing to improve the other thing, as usual.”

Bruce bursts out laughing, and Tony flails his hands in the air in her general direction.

“I was looking for you,” she says to Tony.

“You’re in trouble,” Bruce murmurs. Natasha wonders why that’s everyone’s first response, but she also enjoys her reputation, so she doesn’t respond to it.

“You’re taking your time, for once,” she says at Tony instead.

Tony dips his head, shaking it so that his hair flops a bit. “Not your business, Mommy-Long-Legs.”

“It always ends up being my problem, though,” Natasha says. “I figured I’d try to preempt it this time.”

“I’m thinking thoughts,” Tony begins, “and I’m thinking them hard, you know, as I do.”

“Tony,” Natasha says, feeling something a little like glee. “Tony, are you having a feeling?”

“This might be the most confusing conversation I’ve heard all day,” Bruce adds, and Natasha makes sure to give him her most conniving smile.

“I’m not having a feeling,” Tony insists. “I’m just thinking. About. Stuff.”

“Stuff like feelings,” Natasha says. “I’m going to have to write this down in my diary. Tony Stark had a Feeling.”

“You have a diary?” Bruce blinks at her.

“Keep it right next to my doll collection,” Natasha tells him, straight-faced. She enjoys messing with Bruce, who is made of 25% scientific genius and 75% absolute sass. He’s so quiet; she likes when she can bring him out of his shell.

“Hey, Ariadne,” Tony says. “I can handle my own business.”

Natasha hums in response. It seems she won’t be getting anything else out of Tony today. She lifts an eyebrow at Bruce, shrugs, and then turns around to leave.

“Why does no one believe me when I say that?” Tony asks the air.

“Tony, you can barely handle this new RI detector,” Bruce shoots back, and Natasha leaves the lab to the tune of their bickering.

———

It’s a Friday afternoon, after an incredibly long week, that Bucky decides to call Clint. He’s at home, sprawled over his bed in sweats and a tee, waiting to start dinner until Steve gets back from the gym. He isn’t sure why he has the impulse, but it’s been a couple weeks of texting now, and he kind of figures, why the fuck not.

The call rings three times, and then someone picks up.

“Mr. Barton’s phone. How can I help you?” It’s an unfamiliar voice, cheerful, with a hint of an accent Bucky can’t place.

“Uh. Is Clint there?”

“No, I am sorry,” whoever it is replies. “Mr. Barton has again gone out to play in the traffic. Would you like to hold, or leave a message? Our hold music is me telling you every stupid thing Mr. Barton has done today, if you are interested.”

Someone hisses something in the background - a name? Peter? Petro? It’s a woman’s voice, and the warning is undone by the giggling Bucky can hear over the line.

“Well, fuck it,” Bucky says eventually. “Let’s have the hold music.”

“Excellent choice, sir. It looks like your name is Bucky Hot Asshole. An interesting name. May I call you that?”

Bucky chuckles. “Sure, whatever.”

“My name is Pietro,” the voice says, “and I answer Mr. Barton’s phone when he is being too stupid to live. Did you know today he was fiddling with a pen and broke it during a meeting? There was ink everywhere. His shirt is ruined and Thor hasn’t spoken to him since lunch. I think some of his hair is still blue.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, because he can actually see it. 

“Tell him about the—” the voice in the background hisses, and Pietro laughs.

He also fell asleep in a meeting and tipped over in his chair,” Pietro says. “The chair is broken and Mr. Barton has the bandaid on his face because he hit his head on the table trying to stand.”

“Jesus, is he okay?”

“Mr. Barton is never okay, Bucky Hot Asshole.” Pietro sounds like he’s speaking with authority. His voice goes mournful. “Wanda and I, we try to keep him in line, but it is like trying to, what, herd the cats? It is awful.”

“What about the—” the woman - Wanda? - in the background says, and Pietro starts laughing again.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Barton also lit his sandwich on fire today,” he says, and Bucky hears some noise come out of his mouth that’s half a burst of laughter and half some kind of _hoot._ “We do not know how. We do suspect the microwave, but my soup did not catch on fire, so we do not have enough evidence to make an arrest.”

“It may have been the toaster,” the woman says, loud enough that he can hear. Her voice is very serious; she shares the accent. “Agent Coulson has launched an investigation.”

“There is a folder and everything,” Pietro says cheerfully. “It is very serious.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky chokes out around his own laughter. “Where the fuck is he, anyway?”

“Ah,” Pietro says, “Daddy is talking with Agent Coulson.”

“ _Daddy?_ ” Bucky’s really hooting now, almost doubled over. “Are you telling me that there’s an actual person on this planet who calls Clint Fucking Barton _Daddy?_ ”

“It makes him turn very red,” Pietro says proudly, and Bucky can hear the smirk. “Yummy yummy.”

“Fucking hell,” Bucky chokes out, and then he hears a familiar voice in the background.

Clint is yelling: “Hey, asshole, that’s my chair - is that my phone?”

“Daddy is back,” Pietro tells Bucky cheerfully. “Hey, Daddy, this is Bucky Hot Asshole on the phone. You did not tell me you had a funny friend that is not me?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m gonna kill you,” Clint’s voice says, and Bucky hears the sound of a scuffle, some grunting and the distinct sound of someone’s face mashing up against the mic, and then Clint says:

“Hey, I’m gonna have to call you back in a bit, I have a couple of asses to kick.”

It’s so surprisingly nice to hear Clint’s voice that Bucky freezes for a second, enjoying the warm humor in it, the way he can hear that Clint’s amused underneath the empty threat, and he just breathes “Hi” into the phone like a complete idiot.

“Hi yourself,” Clint says, and Bucky doesn’t know why he knows this but Clint’s blushing, he can somehow tell.

“No problem,” Bucky adds quickly. “It’s nothing - important. Just thought I’d ring you up for a change.”

“Ring you up,” Clint says, laughing, “that’s from Carter or I’m an idiot—” Pietro’s voice calls _You are already an idiot, Daddy!_ in the background and Clint chokes, yelling, “I’m going to feed you to JARVIS, I swear to god—”

Bucky can hear JARVIS’ monotone saying something in the background and he starts laughing again, saying, “Clint, go, it’s cool.”

“Gotta go do a murder, bye,” Clint chirps into the phone, and hangs up.

Bucky slumps back across his bed, aware that he’s smiling, and not really wanting to examine why or what it means. He tries to pretend he’s just amused at the whole situation, that it isn’t from talking to Clint, no matter how briefly.

_**really, i was just bored, you don’t have to call back. Unless you want to. I’m not doing anything tonight.** _

A few minutes later his phone buzzes.

    _Unknown Number:_

_would you like to subscribe to the Daily Dumb Facts About Clinton F Barton Hotline? We text pictures as well._

_**Sign me the fuck up.** _

Bucky saves the number in his phone under _Pietro._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) title from Obsessed by Danger Twins  
> 2) that tequila story is true!! it happened to me and an ex while on vacation (i was the bed, he was the fuckin sushi roll)!! stop laughing!!!111!!!!  
> 3) yes the chapters do get longer as we go. the thing is, this is the part(s) of building a relationship we didn't get to in N;F because of, oh yeah, _the goddamned motherfuckin murderer_ \-- now we get to have the awkward, cute, funny bits of getting to know someone. that's what this story is. plot will resume in the third episode.


	5. 5: Just Got Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple dates are proposed, our boys continue to be adorable, and then a hint of shit getting real.

_Pietro_

_Today’s Clint Barton update: Clint fell asleep in a meeting today and Wanda and I drew the penises on his face. Agent Coulson said this was not work appropriate, so we then made them all look like dogs. Clint slept through that too. For an extra $5.99, I can attach a photo._

_I will send the photo anyway, it is too funny._

———

They’re in the middle of another Friday night DAS when Natasha pauses the show. She moves, very deliberately, to pour out two more shots. They’re drinking pink lemonade vodka tonight, which is absolutely disgusting in Clint’s opinion, but sweet enough that they can chase it with the Indian they’ve ordered and not waste the bottle. Tasha claims to like it, but Clint’s pretty sure she’s just faking.

“Alright, суколик,” she says with an evil grin. “Time for an update.”

Clint sighs. He’s been expecting it for a while, and he’s pleasantly buzzed and full of vegetable biryani and chicken korma, so he doesn’t mind as much as he might another time. It’s been maybe a month and a half since the case. A month and a half of sporadic but constant contact: texting, the occasional phone call, exchanging photos from their days. 

“I send him my dog pics,” Clint offers. “He likes them.” He has this thing about taking pictures of all the dogs he sees, which he sends to a group text called _Daily Doggo_ that includes Nat, Wanda, Bruce, Skye, his friend Kate, and now Bucky. Bucky rarely replies in the chat, but he always makes a note to give the dog some kind of rating (“A+” or “11/10”, usually) just to Clint.

“What an important step in your relationship,” Natasha deadpans. 

“That’s a big word,” Clint says slowly. He isn’t really sure what this thing with Bucky is at this point; they both acknowledged interest at the beginning, sure, and they’re getting to know each other much better now that there isn’t a serial killer directly in the middle of them, but it’s a weird sort of limbo having this slow thing growing when they’re so separated.

“Well,” Tasha says, repeating the grin. “When are you going to ask him on a date?”

Clint hums, re-flopping himself back against the couch, sprawling lazily. “It isn’t quite that easy,” he tells her, shrugging. “We’re always on call an’ I’m sure his schedule can get rough too. We’d have to meet somewhere in the middle, and I have no idea what’s there, plus like… Do I get a hotel room? Is that presumptuous?”

And this is why Nat’s the best friend, because Clint can say shit like this and she just takes it in stride. “Doesn’t have to be. Just state that you’re getting one and he’s welcome to share with no pressure. Get two beds.” She smirks, though. “I mean, I’ll be surprised if you two leave the hotel room, but. You know. Be a gentleman for once.”

“ _Taaaasha_ ,” Clint whines.

“Well, суколик, what do you want to do?” Nat gets down to the heart of it; she’s particularly on point this evening. “It’s been long enough, and you haven’t scared him off yet.”

“Fuck you,” Clint says, with affection, and Nat shrugs.

Clint tips his head back against the couch, thinking. Tasha hands him the shot glass and he downs it, shivering at the nasty-ass fake lemonade flavor and relishing the burst of sugar at the very end. “Dunno,” he says, his voice sulky because he’s still putting words to his thoughts.

“Date him or fuck him or both?” Tasha grins when Clint glances over at her, trying to make his face appalled and disgusted; he can tell by the way her lips quirk that he isn’t entirely successful.

“Why don’t you have a love life we can dissect?” Clint groans at her, even though he knows the answer. Nat’s not into it at all; she has a small group of trusted friends and a slightly larger group of trusted coworkers, and that’s all she needs. Just once, though, Clint wishes she had some kind of shit he could make fun of her for.

“I guarantee it would be nowhere as interesting as yours,” she replies, and that’s pretty true. Clint’s used to being the entertainment in this relationship. In most of his relationships, really.

“Both, I guess,” he says slowly, “but that’s only like, if it works out? Is this weird? Getting to know your one-time booty call from a serial murder investigation and asking him out for dinner?”

“Clint,” Nat says, shaking her head. “Number one: you are not normal. Number two: I think it was more than a booty call. Number three: you’ll never be normal, so stop worrying about it and start being yourself instead.”

God, he loves her so much. Tasha’s readings can be harsh, but they’re almost always what Clint needs to hear. “I guess he’s still talking to me after this long,” he admits. “That’s a good sign.”

“Look, суколик, let’s make a deal. I will do some research, find a town that doesn’t look too terrible and a hotel that won’t be full of dirt and spiders. The deal is, you have to ask him out by the end of next week.”

“Ugh!” Clint yells, but he’s smiling, because Tasha is the best friend in the world. “Fine!”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Nat says, and she downs her shot in one smooth swallow and curls up along his side. Clint nuzzles into her hair, and Nat flicks the remote to re-start _Beat Bobby Flay._

——

Bucky’s days seem extra long and extra boring after the Red Skull case. He is well aware that this is a good thing, that there’s nothing as deadly as a _fucking serial killer_ out in his city, but it feels weird. He doesn’t like feeling this unsettled, like there’s something knocked loose inside him. Steve’s noticed, of course, but Steve’s been quiet about it so far. He thinks Carter might have some idea. The Howlies don’t give a shit, but in a good way - they’ve seen Bucky in so many different moods and they always treat him exactly the same: like an asshole. Bucky appreciates it; he likes that nothing’s gonna change the way they see him.

Clint, though: Clint’s a good source of entertainment, a neverending well of amusement and good stories and charm and wit and the worst flirting Bucky’s ever seen.

_**Question game?** _

They’ve been playing this - well, they call it a game, mainly because the fiction is a not-so-subtle disguise that they’re getting to know each other - where one asks a question and the other can answer or pass. If they answer, then the original asker has to also answer. If they pass, there’s another question. The questions have ranged from stupidly hilarious to surprisingly sexy to strangely intimate. 

At some point Bucky’s gonna have to admit out loud that he has a crush on this guy, but it ain’t gonna be any time soon. He knows Stevie’s gonna corner him about it eventually.

_yea what u got_

Hmm. They’ve been over the usual: boxers or briefs, first times, favorite food. Bucky’s in a good mood, and he decides to start with:

_**Stranded on a desert island. Top three things?** _

_a boat tasha and pizza_

_**That’s a terrible answer** _

**__** _its honets_

_tash can row whil i eat_

_**You’re supposed to tell me three things you don’t ever want to live without** _

**__**_u could hae said that_

_my phone tasha an pizza_

_**I’m not going to get a better answer, am i** _

_nup. u?_

Bucky considers his answer. 

**_My music collection, my best gun, and my grey hoodie_ **

_omfg_

_not steev?_

_**Are you kidding? Steve would immediately try to befriend all of the wildlife, and die. Then I’d be stuck eating his corpse. No thanks.** _

_k my turn place uve always wanted to go_

_**The Grand Canyon** _

**__** _cool man y?_

_**I’m sure the pictures don’t do it justice. I bet it’s majestic. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that it’s just a huge ass beautiful hole in the ground.** _

_dunno but ill go w u if u keep me from fallin_

_mien is actually scotland_

_ive been thru for wokr bu i wanna run around a castle pretendin im king_

_**I am somehow not surprised** _

**_Place you’ve visited that was not worth it at all?_ **

_fuckign iowa man_

_just. dont_

_full of corn tiny airprots ad assholes_

_**An interesting designation** _

**_Steve and I went to London. It looks like every other fucking city in the world except that they drive on the wrong side of the road and talk weird. It was just like being in a backwards New York City. Pass._ **

_y the fuk u go_

_**Peggy was born there. Steve wanted to see it. I was game.** _

_omfg_

_ok_

_bench pres or dead lift_

_**Deadlifts, you moron. Compound lifts are vastly superior.** _

_na bench presses make me hotter_

_**dear fucking god** _

**_What did you want to be when you grew up, when you were a kid?_ **

There’s a long pause for this one. Bucky assumes Clint has actual work to do. They do this kind of thing almost _too_ often; he’s lucky there’s a lull in Baltimore right now, and that he’s currently working up security mockups for Carter. It’s almost scary how much he’d rather talk to Clint than make a PowerPoint about security camera angles — actually no, that isn’t scary, that’s common sense.

Bucky clicks along gamely, aligning the map he’d sketched up with the slide title and changing the font for fun.

_ok so u can have 2 answers but u have to pick an exchange th same_

_th sad childhood answer or the real but not srs answer_

Huh. This isn’t the first time Clint’s alluded to some shit in his past, especially childhood, but Bucky has been letting Clint go there rather than trying to push or ask. In this case, though, he’s curious.

_**Go ahead and do both, I’ll answer** _

_rite well_

_um_

_its a long story but ill say when i ws growin up all i wanted to be was out of tht fuckign house_

_houses i gues_

_or out of teh circus_

_somwhere else. somewhere safe_

_i jus wanted t o be sure id grow up at all_

_but the answer i think u were aimin for is i wanted 2 be a cop_

Jesus, Clint. There have been circus jokes, sure, but Bucky hasn’t been sure whether they were just Clint jokes or reality; likewise, there have been hints about his childhood, but this seems to really hint at something else: houses, as in foster care? And what does he mean by _somewhere safe?_ Bucky doesn’t even know the whole story and his heart is already hurting for Clint, thinking of the kid who had _that_ big heart and crooked smile and wondering how in the hell anyone wouldn’t want to keep Clint safe. _Bucky_ wants to keep Clint safe and all he did was fuck the guy. Jesus.

Bucky takes a moment to stop getting his feelings all over his PowerPoint.

_**I don’t have anything really equal to give back, but** _

**_when we were kids Stevie was sick all the time, I think I mentioned that_ **

**_and for a long time I wanted to be a doctor so I could get him better_ **

**_Turns out I woulda had to go into medical research or something, never would have made a great dr, but i really just wanted to be able to play with my friend without his lungs poppin out_ **

_shit, man_

_**Same, asshole** _

**_Not gonna push, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry._ **

**__** _it aint a secret but it aint public either amn. ill tell u sometime_

_**I’d like to listen. Whenever.** _

———

It’s later than Steve usually stays, but it’s been a bad week with paperwork; Dum-Dum and Jonesy are both out with the flu, and Bucky’s been pretty absentminded lately. Steve doesn’t really mind, though; the work is easy enough, and since Bucky’s been a bit lazy at work Steve knows he can guilt him into making dinner tonight. 

Steve’s not sure what’s up with Bucky. Well — he knows one thing that’s up with Bucky, and that’s SSA Clint Barton with the BAU and Bucky’s increasing dependency on his phone. The thing is, Bucky does this: he gets moody, sort of retracting into himself, like he’s hardening a cocoon to cover some infinitesimal change. He’s done it since they were kids, really, but Steve’s seen it way more frequently since they came back from the army. He just… withdraws, dimming the light of his usual charm and snark, and then comes back like nothing happened.

Steve knows he shouldn’t worry, cause this is pretty normal for Buck, but he still does. He can’t help worrying about his best friend. He’ll worry about Bucky until they’re 90 and in a nursing home and don’t remember each other anymore. It’s the nature of how they work.

He hasn’t really minded picking up the extra, either, cause it gives his own brain time to process. Steve pulls out his mobile and scrolls through his previous messages, glancing at the email he’d gotten a week or so ago, the one he’d been glancing at for a while. The one he hasn’t told Buck about yet.

**Anthony E. Stark** <ironman@starkindustries.com>

To: **Rogers, Steve** <rogerssteve@estf.gov>

> Yo Rogers,
> 
> I’m in the habit of hanging on to cool people I meet for future reference, and you and your boy Barnes made my list of “People Tony Stark Wants To Stay In Touch With.” Hope you don’t mind I nicked your email from the database, it’s mostly public and all. It’s a thing I do.
> 
> Turns out I’ll be coming back to Baltimore some time in the next couple weeks for non-BAU, entirely Stark Technologies reasons, so let’s have some non-work related, entirely for fun reasons, dinner and drinks, yeah? Check your calendar the weekends of the 15-17th or the 22-23rd, and lemme know if there’s a Friday or Saturday night free. It’s on me - I expense these little things as _network building,_ no worries. Mostly the Board likes that I’m making non-BAU, non-crazy friends. 
> 
> I dictated this to JARVIS so if there are any typos or anything, blame him.*
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> Tony
> 
> * _note: I would never leave anything so gauche as a typo. Hello, Detective Rogers._
> 
> _\- JARVIS_

He feels like he should be weirded out by the note - is it weird? It seems weird - but Steve is actually ...excited. There’s nothing there that says anything about a date. And he _liked_ Tony: talking with him had been fascinating, getting to use the tools he’d developed for the BAU, trying to understand how profiling worked with its statistics and its trends and its facts. He and Bucky don’t have much of a social life outside of the Howlies, really. It sounds like fun.

He’s just slipping his phone back into his pocket and standing up to pack up his briefcase when he glances up and Chief Carter’s at the door. 

She still looks crisp and tidy, even after what Steve knows has been a day full of video conferences and budget arguments. They’re trying to finalize the original budget for next year, and Carter has been incredibly busy trying to wrangle some sort of long-term plan out of the government agencies that control their location, mission statement, and finances. Her face softens as she smiles at him, though, and Steve notices past her usual mask: she seems tired, lines around her eyes and a tightness to her lips. He always appreciates getting to see this side of her, rather than her usual professionalism.

“You’re here late, Rogers.” 

He shrugs, stuffing the last few folders into his briefcase. “Just finishing up the Cook case, ma’am.”

Carter’s lips curve up. “You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“I really wanted that one off my desk,” Steve admits. “I’m so tired of seeing it. Makes me angry.” It had been a racially-motivated shooting, and even though no one had died and the right people were being prosecuted, it’s still the kind of thing that Steve _hates,_ knowing how often these things happen.

“You’ve been staying a lot, recently,” she replies, leaning against the doorframe. She’s so _casual_ like this, after hours: Steve doubts anyone other than her crew would recognize it. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and then his traitor mouth says for him, “Want to grab dinner?”

Peggy startles. It’s so brief that Steve wouldn’t even have noticed if he weren’t suddenly at attention, cursing the slip of his tongue, because her face is back to its neutrally-pleasant mask for a second. Then she sighs, and smiles at him lopsidedly, saying, “It’s a little late tonight. I need to get home.”

The runaway part of Steve’s brain notes that it isn’t a _no,_ and Steve swallows cause hey, why not. “What about Friday?” His voice comes out soft, and a little more revealing than he’d wanted to be, but he notes how Peggy’s eyes crinkle as she smiles.

“Steve,” she begins, and her voice is warm and wary, and he makes some kind of gesture to pause her.

“Just dinner,” he says. “And just... Just Peggy. Leave Chief Carter at home.”

For a very long moment he isn’t sure it’s going to work. Because she could easily say no, say she can’t, say it’s a bad idea — and it’s almost more terrifying when she sighs, and smiles again, a real smile, sparkling in her eyes in that way that always makes Steve feel like he’s drowning. 

“Alright,” she says, and something warm curls through her voice too, and Steve’s chest is suddenly full like it’s glowing. “1900 sharp, pick me up. Don’t be late.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he replies, smirking at her a bit, and Peggy flushes the tiniest bit before nodding and heading down the hall.

———

_ok alphabet game w words for ur dick ill start_

_anaconda_

_**Boner** _

**__** _cock_

_**Dong** _

**** _erection_

_**Fuckstick** _

_girth_

_**LMFAOOOOO** _

**_Hardon_ **

_wait 4 it_

_IMPALER_

_**:ALSK:ALSLOLLLLLLLLL**_

_**Jerkstick**_

**__** _u cant use stick twice_

_**Johnson**_

_nice_

_kock_

_**No**_

**** _knob_

_**Love Muscle** _

**__** _manhood_

_**Not Meat Stick?**_

**__** _Meat Hammer_

_**hmmmm N is hard**_

**** _are u giving up already_

_**NINE INCHES OF THUNDER** _

**** _ONE EYED TROUSER SNAKE_

_or ORGASM MACHIEN_

_**I’ll give you points for that** _

**_Pecker_ **

**_Prick_ **

**_Pork Sword_ **

_overachiever lollllllll_

_hmmmm_

_**Usually Q is a free skip if you want to use it** _

**_if you’re a loser_ **

**__** _EAT MY_

_QUIVERING MANFLESH_

_**I’ll let that one go** _

**_ROD_ **

_SCHLONG_

_is that how u spel it_

_**the fuck would i know? I think so?** _

**_Tool_ **

**__** _ok ure gonnahve to let this one go but we hav rules for tehse letters for a reason_

_unicorn… in my pants_

_**honestly for U I’m not sure what i expected**_

_ultimate manhood?_

_**its sad that that’s better**_

The door opens, and Steve walks in. ”Hey, Stevie,” Bucky calls, “ I need a word for your dick that begins with V. Not the Vaginator, that’s terrible.”

“I think I just asked Peggy to dinner _andshesaidyes_ ,” Steve says, all in one breath, rushed and panicked.

 _Shit._ Bucky glances down at his phone.

_ome on man we almost got teh whole thing_

_**I need a pause** _

**_Stevie’s here_ **

**_Steveie’s shook_ **

_FINE go ill b ehere_

“Is that good?” Bucky manages to say. Steve’s frozen over by the closed door, leaning up against it, as if he’s stuck. Steve says nothing, just looks wildly at Bucky until it’s clear that Steve will not be offering anything up any time soon.

“It’s good,” Bucky decides, and he heads over to take Steve’s briefcase out of his hands - what the fuck is he doing bringing work home, it’s already late - and taking off Steve’s windbreaker. He brings Steve over to sit on the couch, tips him back against the cushions, and starts laughing at his face. His eyes are wide like he’s seen a ghost, and there’s this blush riding the tops of his cheekbones, like the ghost was naked.

Steve groans. “Shut the hell up, Buck.” He covers his face with his hands. “I didn’t even mean to, I didn’t plan it, it was totally—”

“Totally good,” Bucky says emphatically. “Totally good.”

“I guess?” Steve is speaking through his fingers, as if that’s going to stop Bucky’s laughing. “It just came out of my mouth, out of nowhere, like my brain just skipped right through the decision-making part and came out with it.”

“Your brain got sick of waiting,” Bucky says, easy, because that’s the funniest thing in the world. “You’ve been wanting this for like, how many years, Stevie? Thank your brain. Be a gentleman.”

“It’s officially a date too,” Steve nearly wails, tipping himself over on the couch dramatically. “I made sure of that.”

“ _Why_ are we mourning?” Bucky claps his hands and goes to pull Stevie’s hands off of his face. “C’mon, it’s time to celebrate, break out the booze and the dancers, Stevie!” He tugs dramatically at Steve, who’s moaning and trying to tug his hands back, but Steve’s finally starting to laugh and Bucky wants to cheer. “I’m so _proud_ of you,” he gushes, putting on some kind of ridiculous accent that’s half Jersey and all terrible. “I want to hang you on the _fridge._ ”

Steve’s laughing through his words as he says, “Oh my god, Buck, _stop,_ ” but he lets Bucky pull him upright. Bucky cups his cheeks like an annoying grandmother and Steve swats him away, chuckling, and Bucky likes this Steve much better than near-panicking Steve, anyway.

It’s a little later when he gets back to his phone for a second.

_**Hey, sorry, Stevie asked Carter out on a date and we’ve been having a panic party over here. I’ll have to finish up tomorrow** _

Even later, as he’s heading to bed, Bucky checks the phone to see the following messages have filtered in over the course of about an hour and a half:

_hye no prob bob ill penalize u for d3elay of game but go STevie?_

_act5ually_

_fuck_

_if he’s gonna_

_Would you want to meet up somewhere for dinner one of these weekends?_

_i types it out special just for u man_

Bucky’s heart thuds, once, and then he’s smiling dumbly at his phone, just as much of an idiot as Steve.

_**Yeah. Let’s do that.** _

———

Phil’s finally down to only three unread emails. His inbox is a strictly-managed thing, using almost 200 custom filters and JARVIS’ best logic tree to make sure everything is categorized and labeled appropriately, but even then it’s a rare day that he gets under ten. Three is a victory. And even better, two of them are issues he recognizes that can wait until tomorrow. Fury’s forwarded him a case file from New York City; all he has to do is review that one, and then he can go home early.

The good feeling starts to evaporate as Phil opens the email. Fury forwards him other cases when he sees something new, or something that sets off some warning bells, but they’re usually just shot off from Fury’s mobile, at _most_ with some kind of _‘FYI’_ at the top. This one starts out, _Coulson,_ and Phil settles down into his seat to give this a little more attention than the skimming he had originally planned.

_Coulson,_

_Recent case from NYC. Make sure you read the witness testimony. No evidence it’s more than a one-off, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this._

_Cheese_

Phil opens the case file, clicking through the tabs slowly. It seems a mostly straightforward - if gruesome - murder case: couple hears a noise in the middle of the night, man goes to investigate, comes back with a knife, stabs wife thirteen times. Leaving at the noise and coming back with the knife probably means it was premeditated, or that the husband has at least thought about it before; stabbing thirteen times makes it extremely personal. Phil flips through the images tab quickly, not really wanting to look at the defensive wounds the wife had carved into her husband’s chest with her fingernails. Okay, maybe. Little less straightforward in terms of motive, but he’s certainly seen stranger and worse in his hears with the BAU.

He skips ahead to the witness testimony tab, scrolling through the informatory header until he reaches the summary.

_Upon initial interview, the suspect claimed to have absolutely no recollection of the incident. The suspect’s recounting of the evening revolved around an unknown intruder, who apparently subdued the suspect, stabbed the victim, and then escaped. Even after exposure to the photo images of the crime scene, and the physical evidence on the suspect himself, suspect still claimed innocence, insisting there was a third man in a “monster mask or something” who had committed the actual murder. While all evidence aligns with the suspect being the true murderer, the continued insistence and, as noted by the interviewer, “near-emotional panic” at hearing the true story must be noted as an aberration. Additional interviews have turned up no further information, and the suspect’s adherence to the details of his story is unusual for a cover story, leaving one interviewer to question whether the suspect truly remembered the murder at all. Further detail will be gathered on the possibility of: presence of drugs in the suspect, mental illness or psychological break, or other external influences on the suspect’s mind._

Phil reads the summary two or three times over, not entirely sure what he’s reading. Something in his stomach is sinking, though; Fury’s gut feelings are legendary, and it doesn’t take a long stretch of his imagination to imagine a third man as an unsub, committing a string of murders, somehow able to influence innocent people and then make them forget the details of their own crime.

It’s so unlikely. Phil’s seen unsubs try it with drugs, with torture, with bribes, and it never sticks. But this case… Fury’s right. There’s a pretty bad feeling hanging over all of this.

Phil closes his laptop and puts it in his briefcase. He is, in fact, going to go home early — to get himself a glass of whiskey, and watch the witness interview recordings in the privacy of his own home. Just in case - just in case this isn’t some strange mental-break, drug-fueled over-violent murder. Just in case this ends up being the first sign of something even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really HAVE to appreciate my **Lesbian Sounding Experts** team from tumblr for helping out with the dick alphabet: Tiny Gay, Pegging Enthusiast, Vodka Aunt, and Distant Uncle: @spidergwenstefani, @aw-hawkeye-no, @kangofu-cb, and poor @things-i-can-never-have, lol. A COUPLE OF THOSE LETTERS WERE DIFFICULT, OKAY
> 
> Sorry for the delay; I struggled with this chapter a LOT for some reason. I think it's because the story now has an outlined goal and endpoint, rather than me just dicking around with texting fic (although don't worry there's plenty of texting to come), and/or the fact that STEVE ROGERS IS A STUBBORN A-HOLE WHO DOESN'T WANT TO DO WHAT I WANT HIM TO DO.
> 
> anyway hope y'all are still reading and hope you enjoy


	6. 6:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't touched this since February! WOW. SO SORRY. This isn't abandoned, and neither is the real sequel, I've just been, you know. Distracted by commissions and the Bad Decisions Discord and Winterhawk MFD and gratuitous comfort fic and all. Anyone who's still reading, I love you deeply.

**[GROUP CHAT: fuckers i work w]**

**PieTRAITOR**

_Ok fam why is our favorite Daddy so distracted today?_

_He has missed his chair while trying to sit down_

_Trice_

_In a row_

**WandASS**

**__** _It’s thrice petey_

_Or twice_

**PieTRAITOR**

_Don’t call me that woowoo_

**WandASS**

_I have spit in your coffee_

**PieTRAITOR**

_When i was your age, Wanda, we respected our elders_

**WandASS**

_When you were my age?_

_12 min ago you were off in bathroom_

_i fucking hate u all_

_M jus havng a rough day_

**Tasha**

_That’s a lie, kids. Someone was on the phone late last night with a special other someone._

_tash_

_Ifuskcn swear 2 fuck_

**PieTRAITOR**

**__** _OOOOOOH! Is this the Bucky Hot Asshole we all know and love?_

**WandASS**

_You know its true love when you fall on your ass_

_the fuck guys_

_can’t u just_

_fuck off_

**WandASS**

_He’s so angry!_

**PieTRAITOR**

**__** _Do you think we are still all the funny names in his phone?_

_of course u ar asshole_

_stil dont believe u took his number_

_and still fuckign text hm_

**PieTRAITOR**

_It means he is thinking of you every day, Daddy!_

**Tasha**

_You guys could consider lightening up. He DOES have a date. A real one._

**PieTRAITOR**

_Alkdjsl;shklasdjasasadi_

**WandASS**

_;alsjql;wema,.sdm!!!!!!!!_

_WHY THE FUCX IS IT S O SURIRISING_

**Tasha**

_Clint, you really need to turn your autocorrect back on._

**Pietro**

_Apparently Hot Asshole likes Daddy just the way he is_

_Pietro im gona end ur fuskjhb lief_

_also f u 2 nat_

**Tasha**

❤️⭐️❌⭕️

_Okay, new topic of conversation: why the hell is PHIL so distracted today?_

**PieTRAITOR**

_I dont see it_

_u dont see much_

**PieTRAITOR**

_ass_

**WandASS**

**__** _You’re right though. He keeps losing his train of thought_

**PieTRAITOR**

**__** _Well we are all fucking exhausted_

_If i have to interview one more family member i am going to go jump off the building_

_Tashur right_

_doesnt look like he spelt any_

_slepp_

_omg_

**Tasha**

_I’ll try to find out. The rest of you, step it up, I’d like to go home some time this century._

**PieTRAITOR**

_Stfu_

**Stank**

_What the hell???? 57 unread???? Is someone dying?????_

**WandASS**

_Not our fault, Natasha_

_piss off tones non ur busness_

**Stank**

_It’s in group chat. It’s definitely my business._

_A date???? Hawkeye!!!!!_

_Why didn’t you invite me????????_

_on my date? ru kiddng_

**Stank**

_To Baltimore!! Guys Weekend Out????????_

**PieTRAITOR**

**__** _Oh it’ll be a guys weekend out_

_For sure_ ;) ;) ;) ;)

**WandASS**

_Or guys’ weekend IN ;) ;) ;)_

**Stank**

_IN AND OUT AND IN AND OUT ??????_

**PieTRAITOR**

_HIGH FIVE_

_y cans u all jus leave me aloen_

**WandASS**

_I am morally incapable_

**PieTRAITOR**

_I am physically incapable_

**Stank**

_I just don’t feel like it._

_You know, I can fix that autocorrect for you, Barton._

_u are teh entire reasbn i cant use it stark_

**Stank**

_Now that just hurts, Hawkeye._

**Banner**

_I don’t know how I always get added back to these group chats. I’m deleting all of you._

**Stank**

_Brucie!!!!! Clint’s all grown up and has a date!!!!!!!_

**Banner**

_I literally don’t care, Tony, although good for you Clint_

_Bye_

_thx_

**PieTRAITOR**

_Give us all teh juicy details Daddy_

_i am givin u no details at all_

_u don’t deserve them_

**Tasha**

_Look, kids, solve this case and I’ll give you all the details you need. I’m going to put Phil down for a nap._

**Stank**

_Aw, Mommy Long Legs taking care of her spawn._

**WandASS**

_Omg perf nickname_

_im thrownig my phone in teh trash_

**PieTRAITOR**

_Daddy no. Daddy. DADDYYYYYYY_

_Wait I can see him he’s just turning it off_

_Wait lol Natasha just stole Tony’s phone bye I need to see this_

[32 min ago]

**How Does Thor Exist**

_MY FRIENDS! WHAT HAS OCCURRED HERE?? I DID NOT KNOW I WAS HONORED ENOUGH TO BE INCLUDED IN THE INTIMATE DISCUSSIONS OF YOUR LOVE LIVES! I AM TOUCHED TO HAVE BEEN ADDED TO THIS FAMILY BONDING CHAT! BARTON, HAWK-EYED ONE, GODSPEED WITH YOUR WOOING AND MAY THE SEX BE ROMANTIC AND PHENOMENAL!_

_I HEARD THE BUZZING BUT THOUGHT IT WAS SOME STRANGE MACHINERY FROM THE LABORATORY! HOW FUNNY! NEXT TIME I WILL CHECK MY DEVICE SOONER SUCH THAT I CAN TAKE PART IN THIS RITUAL!_

_IT SEEMS ENTERTAINING AND HILARIOUS WHILE STILL BEING A TRIBUTE TO TRUE FRIENDSHIP_

_YOU ARE ALL TRUE FRIENDS AND FAMILY TO ME_

_omg_

**Banner**

_Please, everyone, delete my number_

**How Does Thor Exist**

_BUT BRUCE! MY LOVE!_

**Banner**

_I don’t know you._

———

Bucky flops back onto his bed and slips his thumb along the bar on his screen. “Yo,” he says, cause he knows it’s Clint, and they just talked a few days ago, and this may be a dumbly exciting new part of their - thing - but it’s an exciting new part of their thing, and Bucky likes it.

“Yeah, I’m calling for a James … Barn?” Clint loves doing this shit, Bucky has found out, and he loves fucking with Clint, so it works out well. “Owner of Hobo Chic Incorporated?”

“Sorry, there’s no James Barn here,” he says, patching disappointment into his voice. “Did you mean James Bond, international man of mystery?”

“No,” Clint says deadpan, “I must have meant James Boones, proprietor of deliciously cheap-ass wine-style beverages?”

“I think you have the wrong number,” Bucky replies, trying not to laugh at _wine style beverage_. “Could you mean James Bourne, another international man of mystery?”

“Definitely not,” Clint says, and there’s just a hint of laughter in his voice now. “Let me check again.” There’s a rustle, and then: “What about James Barnacle, deep sea fisherman?”

There’s absolutely no way for Bucky to expect _that_ , and he breaks out in delighted laughter. If he’d known Clint was so much fun on the phone, he would have called _weeks_ ago.

“Great,” Clint continues, “I have a great deal to offer you on boat insurance,” but then he’s laughing too, deep and easy, and the sound of it makes Bucky so inexplicably pleased that he’s gonna have to deal with that at some point.

“What’s going on?” Bucky grins into the phone - not that Clint can see - and squiggles his back a little bit to get comfortable in the pile of blankets.

“Well,” Clint says teasingly, “I, uh,” and then his voice drops into his usual, casual, somewhat self-degrading tone. “Would it make you feel better if we skipped all of the pretense that I was doing any of this work and I told you what _Natasha_ found in between here and Baltimore instead?”

“Sure,” Bucky says easily, “Sounds good. Let’s just say you did it anyway. I’m sure you would have.”

“That,” Clint says, sounding pleased, “but also, I’m very lazy.”

“Hit me up.” Bucky puts Clint on speaker and pulls up maps on his phone, curious as to where Natasha might have found for their… date? Not-date? Hangout? Fuck, he really needs to ask Clint what this is.

“So,” Clint starts, “there’s this suburb-town-thing called Rockville, outside DC. Nat thinks we’ll be able to avoid some traffic by heading there rather than anywhere closer to the city.”

Bucky pulls it up on his screen. “Not Bethesda?”

“Nah,” Clint drawls. “She said it’s more convenient, and that it’s more my thing anyway.”

“Your thing,” Bucky teases. “What’s your thing?”

“Uhhhhh.” Clint sounds a little taken aback. “Um. Casual? Not super… nice? I mean, snobby?” There’s a pause, and then he says, “Oh, shit, I mean we can do nice, would you rather do nice?, I just figured you liked the Dugout and all but I can—”

Bucky’s laughing almost too hard to get it out, but he finally manages to say, “ _Clint,_ ” which stops the desperate ramble. “Christ,” he says through more laughter. “I don’t need fancy. Somewhere you like is _fine._ ”

“You know,” Clint says, like he’s trying to get some dignity back, “for the record, Natasha doesn’t plan all of my dat— all of my weekends.” The phone transmits a distinct sigh. “I swear.”

“Clint,” Bucky urges, “were you gonna say date?”

There’s a pause, and then Clint responds, his tone flirty with a trace of nerves: “Am I allowed to?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, because that’s better than the _hell yes_ that almost came out of his mouth. Then he remembers Clint’s hesitancy, that it might come across wrong, so he adds: “I’d like that, I think.” It comes out soft and husky and all kinds of _feelings_ things he doesn’t want to deal with just yet, but — maybe it won’t come across the phone line.

Clint’s sigh of relief is almost covered by the cocky “I’ll make sure you do” that he actually says, and both responses make Bucky feel better. They make him feel warm, actually, something in his chest clenching.

“So, Rockville,” Bucky prompts.

“Yeah,” Clint says, definitely trying for casual this time. “Tasha found me a hotel that seems nice but not expensive, it’s like, right near the Metro and the Amtrak station, you know, just for, uh, reference.”

“Clint,” Bucky retorts, “I will drive there, like an adult person, in my _car._ ”

“Not everyone has a car,” Clint shoots back, and fuck, he’s right.

“You’re right, sorry, man, it’s just.” Bucky pauses. “I’ve had some kind of car since I could drive. It’s independence, right? It means I can get out of anywhere I need, go anywhere I need, whenever I need.” He swallows, thinking carefully. “That’s really cool of you to find somewhere that accessible, though.”

“Eh.” He can almost hear Clint shrugging over the line. “Haven’t always had that, don’t like to make assumptions. Plus, Nat found it.”

Bucky’s mind is now rewinding a little bit and pointing out a major piece he may have missed. “So,” he says, and it’s his turn to play super casual. “You’re staying the night?”

Clint snorts. “Unless I’m on a case and therefore heavily caffeinated, I am useless to humanity after a certain hour of the evening. Yes, I’m staying over. No fuckin’ way am I driving home that night.”

Based on the silence that hits at that moment, they’re probably both coming to the same conclusions - and reliving a share of the same memories.

“I mean,” Clint says carefully, “I can tell Nat to — I’ll book a double? In case you end up wanting to — not drive home. That night. That’s not a problem.”

 _If I stay that night,_ Bucky thinks, _that second bed will be the most useless thing in that room._ What he says is, “Thanks, man, that would be awesome.” The thought’s enough to get him thinking of having Clint, naked, spread out over a king size mattress, and it punches a little breath out of him as he considers the possibilities.

“Right,” Clint says, and he must have gained a little more confidence because now he’s asking, his voice low and a little teasing, “So when can I take you on this _date,_ Mr. Barnes?”

“Well, you finally got my name right,” Bucky shoots back, grinning into the phone. “When are you free?”

“Well, this weekend I have an appointment with that Barnacle guy, so how about… hm.” Clint pauses, and Bucky can hear a faint sound that might be Clint flipping through the screens of his calendar. “Actually. Um. Two weeks Saturday?”

“The 7th?” Bucky checks. “Yeah, lemme see. Oh! A whole lotta nothin’. I can probably pencil you in.”

“I’ll pencil _you_ in,” Clint mutters, like it’s an automatic response. “Alright. Lemme confirm with Coulson that I can get fully off-call, and I’ll, uh. Book a room.”

This time the silence between them feels charged - even over the phone - and Bucky remembers Clint’s hands on him in the club, the flashing lights, Clint’s mouth on his neck, before their lips ever even touched.

“For the record,” Bucky says, his voice low, and he didn’t mean to say this out loud but his mouth is doing it anyway. “I’m staying in that room, if I’m invited.”

He hears Clint’s inhale and _fuck,_ he hopes that isn’t too forward — he should probably make some kind of excuse.

“One bed or two?” Clint asks, and there’s this growl in his voice that hits Bucky in the spine. His dick is very interested in that growl. He wants more of that.

“Hmmm,” Bucky murmurs, and are they really having this conversation? “What’s your preference?”

“Um,” Clint says, as if he’s thinking the same awkward thing — but then Clint goes for it, his voice absolutely thick and filthy. “One bed means more room. Two beds means two places to… mess up.”

And fuck, Bucky’s half hard already, his hand palming himself through his sweats, and this is something new. There’s anticipation there right alongside the _want_ , and they’ve danced around this the whole time, and Bucky very suddenly wants to not give a fuck.

“I like the way you’re thinking.” His voice is rough, husky. “Tell me more.”

Clint makes this sound that’s half-laugh and half-groan, and says, almost dumbly, “I’m very turned on right now.”

“Good,” Bucky breathes. “Cause I am too. Just thinking about it.”

“Thinking about you,” Clint admits, and that’s it; Bucky slips his hand beneath the waistband of his sweats, trailing his fingers up his cock, feeling it harden.

“Christ,” he says; it comes out a bit wrecked, and that’s probably a dead giveaway that he has his hand in his own pants, but at this point Bucky’s done caring. “I think about that night a lot,” he tells Clint, like a confession.

“ _Shit_.” Clint groans and there’s a definite edge to it. Bucky imagines Clint, jeans unbuttoned, the tip of his cock sticking out over the waistband of dark boxers; _fuck._ He remembers Clint’s dick all too well.

“You have no idea,” Bucky gasps out. He’s deliberately playing it up, and he doesn’t really know why. They haven’t done this; haven’t even gotten close to this. They’ve distinctly avoided this. And why? This attraction is what started it, what led to the fact that they’re still even talking, and they’ve been too embarrassed to pretend it exists? This is at the _core_ of their entire connection; this is how they met.

“You think?” Clint asks. “Half my entire frickin’ head’s stuck on a continuous replay of your dick inside me,” and jesus _fuck_ it isn’t even meant to be dirty talk and it’s the _filthiest_ thing Bucky’s ever heard. His cock twitches in his hand and his grip tightens.

“I can’t even fuckin’ think,” Bucky gets out, “cause my brain ends up stuttering on your fuckin’ abs.” His hand is around his cock, now, hard on the upstroke and lighter down, like a tease; he’s buzzing, incredibly turned on just by Clint’s voice.

“Are you —?” Bucky manages to get out.

“Yes,” Clint whispers, “yes, are — are you?”

Oh, _fuck._ “Yeah,” Bucky says, “yeah, fuck, Clint, sometimes I just start remembering you on that fuckin’ dance floor and I don’t need to even go any further…” He trails off, fisting his dick, hips slowly thrusting upwards through it.

“Bucky,” Clint _whines,_ “Buck. You don’t _even._ Your goddamn _mouth._ ” He can hear rustling over the phone, fabric shifting. 

Bucky’s hand is getting slick, his dick leaking, and he speeds up and tightens up a little bit, punching a moan out of his mouth he didn’t mean to make. “Fuck,” he says, “fuck, I’m just picturing all the things I want to do to you…”

Clint interrupts with a strangled sound of his own. His voice is really rough as he asks, “Fuck, Bucky, tell me, I wanna know.”

Bucky breathes in. His hips are moving on their own now, in tandem with his fist, and it feels good but knowing that Clint’s doing the same thing, knowing that Clint has his own dick out, engaging in this fantasy together — it’s the hottest fucking thing Bucky’s done in a long while.

“I’m imagining it’s your mouth,” he starts, low and breathless, the words just coming out with no thought at all, no self-consciousness, no filter. “With you - fuck - would you — would you get on the floor? On your knees?”

“God yes,” Clint _breathes,_ and he sounds absolutely wrecked over the phone. “Yeah, I’ll do that, it’ll be _so good_.”

The wave is rising, pleasure building from the base of his spine, thinking about Clint’s mouth, Clint’s hands; Bucky’s breath is haggard as he says, “what else? What are you—?”

“When I was fucking riding you,” Clint says _instantly_ , and the tone of voice goes straight to Bucky’s dick. He isn’t going to last much longer. “You looked so _good,_ you felt so _good, shit,_ Buck, I’m close—”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, “yeah, me too,” and he ends up arching his back, thrusting into his fist again, again — he hears Clint gasping — and Bucky’s there, like a lightning bolt, heat punched out of him, hissing as he comes all over his hand. “ _Fuck,_ ” he whispers, and gets to hear Clint come over the phone with this long low moaning sound, relieved and wanting and Bucky’s picturing it, picturing the way Clint had looked on top of him. 

“I don’t believe we just did that,” Clint says, and his voice is slow like honey and wonderment.

“I don’t believe we didn’t do that before,” Bucky replies, trying to get his breathing under control.

Clint snorts. “I didn’t really realize it was an option.”

“Don’t ruin the afterglow,” Bucky says idly, and Clint snorts again. 

“I’ll see you in two weeks,” Clint says, wonderment still in his voice.

Bucky sighs, sated and satisfied. “You will.”

———

Steve maybe isn’t quite sure what to do with his second fork (or his first fork?), and he isn’t sure the second glass of wine is making him more relaxed and charming or just more of a rambling nerd, and he _really_ isn’t sure what’s in this sauce, but he does know one thing: this is a real date, and it’s going _surprisingly_ well.

Carter isn’t Carter: she’s Peggy, open and laughing and lovely. There’s this sneaky, snarky side to her that Steve hasn’t ever really seen in full play (only pieces), and _god_ but he’s loving her take on the last Spider-Man movie; her dry recitation of the State of the Union, complete with faces, has Steve rolling around in his seat.

He continues to feel pleasant surprise all through dinner and dessert - rich chocolate cake and another glass of Zinfandel for both of them, an incredible combination - and he feels like he’s just staring at Peggy with a dumb smile on his face but can’t bring himself to do much else.

Peggy must notice, because she leans back in her chair, wineglass in hand, and smirks. Steve wonders whether she’s like this with everyone, any time she isn’t at work. 

The smirk turns sharp. “I’m only like this with the good men,” Peggy says, and Steve realizes he said the last bit out loud. He stammers, setting his glass down, and Peggy must take pity on him, because her eyes go soft. 

“Steve,” she says, gently through her smile. “We need to talk about this.”

“Do we?” It sounds plaintive to his ears, and Steve mentally gathers himself up. “That isn’t what I mean, really, I’m just. I’m enjoying this, and I don’t want to go too far or put any labels on it, I just want to ...enjoy it. For now.”

Peggy nods at that, taking a sip of the wine. “I know.” Her voice is soft. “But even then, Steve, you should realize there are reasons I don’t do this very often.”

Huh. “I don’t know much about your life outside of work,” Steve offers.

“That’s because there isn’t much of one,” Peggy says, “and when I do decide to unplug I do so _thoroughly_. There’s no other way to survive this job.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, thinking. “Distance. That makes sense.”

“Plus,” she continues, her lips curving again. “I don’t think you and I are the kind of people who can stay casual about something like this for very long.”

That sounds like some kind of criticism, so Steve replies, “Like I said earlier, Peg, I just want to enjoy this for now.”

“Steve,” Peggy says, and he’ll never get tired of how his name sounds in her mouth, in her accent. “Look at us. We’re both passionate, devoted, and absolute workaholics. There’s no way anything between us would be anything else.”

Steve picks up his wine glass, taking a slow sip in order to think about it. Peggy’s right - as usual - but it’s a right that sounds like an ultimatum, and those don’t sit well with Steve. “Is that such a bad thing?” He shifts, and then says, “You don’t seem the type of woman to settle for anything else.”

Peggy laughs at that, bright and crisp, and Steve finds that stupid grin pulling itself across his face again.

“Let me put some cards on the table, Steve.” Her face is still alight with mirth, but her words are serious. “Of course. I don’t settle for anything. Which is why I really don’t date. It isn’t…” She trails off, biting her bottom lip as she thinks for words, and Steve nods. “It isn’t as important to me as the work, in the grand scheme of things.”

“Really.” Steve’s taken a little aback; someone as bright and talented as Peggy deserves a partner, deserves unyielding support and unlimited backrubs. 

Her smile goes crooked. “You can’t tell me in this day and age that marriage is the proper end goal for every woman, Steve.” Her voice is teasing, because she knows his views on _that_ align with her own, and Steve nods to concede the point.

“This work,” Peggy says. “This work we’re doing, the chance we have to make a difference, to root out toxic masculinity at its source, to rewrite broken procedures that have given us nothing but dirty cops and unfair racial profiling… Steve, this work is the most important thing I’ll ever do, and no relationship is ever going to have as much priority as the changes we could make. The changes we _are_ making.”

“I know, and I love that about you,” Steve says automatically, and then cringes, wondering if that’s too forward. He’s told the whole goddamn team he loves them at some point, and he does, and after a moment Steve decides to refuse to be embarrassed about it.

Peggy’s lips quirk upwards at the corners, as if she was waiting for him to come to that conclusion, and Steve sighs and smiles. 

“Full honesty, then,” Peggy says, and something about her expression changes, goes almost soft. “I’m not looking for a relationship, and I haven’t in a while, because I am _always_ going to put this job and this work first, and myself second, and while I’m not sorry about it, I’m aware it makes any prospect horribly unbalanced.”

Steve shrugs, and takes another sip of wine to pause while he puts his thoughts in order.

“Full honesty?” Steve asks gently, to confirm, and Peggy nods.

He sighs. “Full honesty is that I feel like there’s something here, between us, and I would regret only ever catching it out of the corner of my eye, never turning to really look at it. I want to - I want to look at it. I want to see what it is. That doesn’t mean it’s… Hmm.” He pauses to duck his head, look up at Peggy tentatively. “I’m not just seeing things, right?”

“No, Steve,” and this smile is generous, broad, and edged with emotion Steve doesn’t always get to see. “You’re not.”

“Then I want to see what it is.” Steve plants himself firmly in his chair and looks her in the face, shrugging again. “That doesn’t mean changing you, it doesn’t mean changing me, and it doesn’t mean a picket fence and 2.5 children. It might mean three dates and we’re done; it might be some long dramatic torrid affair,” and he’s teasing with that, rewarded with Peggy’s bright laugh. “It might end up not a possibility. All I want to do is… take a look.”

“You’ve a beautiful way with words,” Peggy murmurs. Her eyes are starry, and the intensity of her gaze is almost enough to leave Steve breathless. _Full honesty_ , indeed. “Not always, but when you’re inspired, you so easily drop speeches that could make men cry. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

“Oh,” Steve blurts, immediately ruining the moment. He feels himself flush and rubs his hand over his face, laughing a little. “I don’t - I don’t notice.”

“But I do,” Peggy says, her voice creamy with approval. “Of course you don’t; that’s what makes it so charming.”

Steve grins at her, and to his surprise, reaches his hand across the table. “So. No commitments, no expectations, no rules, just us. Shall we take a look?”

Peggy grins at him and her face is still alight, eyes shining. “Yes,” she says, “let’s,” and Steve pulls her hand across the table to kiss her knuckles.

\------

Phil’s already at home with the scotch in hand when an email from Fury comes in with the subject line _“FYI - RELATED.”_ Phil doesn’t like the sound of that.

_Cheese,_

_Psychological report from that last case. Keep your eyes open._

_Cheese_

Phil hasn’t been able to get that last case out of his mind. He’s seen a lot of shit in the BAU -- really, a lot of _shit._ Their job, at its core, is not just to look at the awful things that come at the edges of humanity, but to try and _understand_ them, and it’s not the kind of job that gets done without some of the abyss settling inside you. And still that last email had settled in somewhere, an ice shard next to his heart, that mental picture of being stabbed over and over by someone you love while they're not in their right mind. It’s poignant in its horror, and Phil doesn’t much like the nightmares.

He still opens up the report, because any email where Fury calls either Phil or himself _Cheese_ is something he’s asking a personal favor for. 

The report doesn’t help. The subject shows all of the markers of wild grief, the signs of losing a loved one, but absolutely no recognition or recollection of actually stabbing the wife. In fact, all of the suspect’s responses - via psychological evaluation as well as a slew of mental testing - corroborate the original story of some kind of demon he fought off his wife only to find her dead afterwards. Phil reads it through three times, over two additional glasses of the scotch.

So: it obviously isn’t true - the suspect obviously killed his own wife - but the suspect also, equally, confoundingly, obviously believes his own story is true, despite the evidence. To a level Phil’s never, _ever_ seen faked before, and he’s been with the BAU since the very beginning. 

_What do you know that I don’t,_ he replies to Nick, because Nick wouldn’t tell him _keep your eyes open_ unless he had some very specific static showing up on a very specific wine. He spends the next fifteen minutes wrestling with the desire for another scotch, because he’s now trying to analyze a scenario so traumatic that a man’s real memories are pushed down into his subconscious so far a full psych workup can’t get at them. The clinical part of him wants to know what _does_ that, but the part that’s still vulnerably human seems incredibly emotional. How can a man whose body did such things still believe to such a powerful extent that he’s innocent?

The email arrives as he’s still staring at the screen.

_Noise from a couple different vectors. Could be foreign. Nothing yet, but you’ll be brought in as soon as a crumb shows. Have a feeling I’m gonna need my good eye, Coulson._

Foreign -- that usually means _terrorist,_ and the BAU’s been brought in to consult and even mediate a number of those incidents, but it doesn’t exactly match up. Why the hell would a foreign terrorist cell want to make a normal man murder his normal wife?

Phil finds he’s shaking his head, over and over again, and he closes his laptop. There’s no amount of garbage television that can completely drown out this scenario, but Phil is sure as hell gonna give it his best attempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trufax: their date in Rockville will be based on a weekend I spent with some friends there, probably. Trufax: I am likely to be slow updating this along with Thousand Times. Trufax: [This Stupid Place](https://discord.gg/63Q7qEH) is keeping me going. Trufax: I love you all.

**Author's Note:**

> a note: Nat's actually making a silly Russian pun / joke for Clint's nickname. Суколик is a combination of сокол, which is a more general term for hawk or falcon, and сука, which means bitch; they sound very similar to each other, and Nat used to tease Clint with both until she invented this particular word just for him. The ик is the ending which means “little”, usually a term of endearment, but with Nat who knows, really ;) (thanks @ justira)


End file.
